What's Your Wager?
by InspiredDitto
Summary: A series of setbacks has plagued Bulma these last few months. With Christmas right around the corner, ChiChi is worried and decides to offer a playful bet to help lighten her mood. Bulma is set on a path that she never expected while battling one of her biggest demons...herself. Will she ever be able to save her sanity despite the cosmos determined to work against her?
1. Hit or Stay

This story is dedicated to Mallie-3 and Springandbysummerfall. Not only was it a part of the We're Just Sayin' Google+ community gift exchange in 2014 for Mallie-3 originally(whoops!) with the writing prompt: "The main reason why Santa is so jolly is because he knows where all the bad girls live" - George Carlin. It was also quietly read and encouraged by Springandbysummerfall as it has been developing and fleshed out more recently. I made the final push to have it written and ready for the holidays these past 4 months and I appreciate Springandbysummerfall's diligence in reading and offering constructive criticism when needed. I have only a few more chapters to write, but most of it is done and ready. This is my Christmas gift to all of you!

Welcome to my first attempt at lighthearted comedy, yeah yeah I know...completely out of character for me. It's supposed to be a reflection of the characters, themselves, without sticking to strict characterization from the original series. Intending for this story to be silly, fun and still grounded in real-life struggles, I understand that it deviates. This is an alternate universe created for laughter and enjoyment and I hope that is what it brings you this holiday season!

* * *

Lighting a cigarette between pouted rose lips, Bulma drew slowly on the glowing stick between her slender fingers. Wrist hanging loosely while watching a thin ribbon of smoke curling upwards in lazy escape, Bulma couldn't help but wish she could do the same. She eyed the room from her corner perch. Her gold stiletto hooked on the chair's footrest made her knee curve perfectly for her crossed leg to rest comfortably. One arm bent on the cocktail table cradled her elbow in the palm of her hand as she released a sigh clouded with cigarette smoke. She took another long drag of her cigarette before flicking the powdery end against the ashtray.

Blowing the smoke from the side of her mouth with an irritated huff, she watched a pair of delicate manicured hands wrap around the arm of an all too familiar, neatly pressed navy blazer. Straight blonde strands curtaining the girl's face didn't hide the pearly smile or long lashes batting flirtatiously at the man in the jacket. A jolt of jealousy when his face lit up in a warm grin welcoming the attention was sickeningly green in intensity.

Angrily trying to stab the cigarette through the ashtray to extinguish it, two already expired ends sticking up in surrender from suffering the same fate, she turned her attention to a nearby monitor. She sipped her wine absentmindedly as the image on the screen warned of a low-pressure system starting to develop in the Western part of the country. To her it was just a series of disconnected images flashing on the screen. What held her attention was the intensity of her want to go home that was directly related to the juxtaposition of the blonde who was sidling up to the navy blazer.

She didn't even notice when her best friend, ChiChi, slid easily onto the chair next to her with another round of drinks for them both.

"Jeez, Bulma." Her tone laden with disapproval, ChiChi wrinkled her nose in disgust. "I thought you quit that nasty habit years ago."

Eyeing her friend over the rim of her glass, Bulma knocked back the last of her moscato before setting it aside to make room for its replacement.

"I guess this will just help end my year with a bang, then." Bulma grumbled, snatching the new glass of wine from her friend's hand.

Bulma was stuck at the Titans' annual Holiday Charity Gala. Her once-long-time-boyfriend-now-ex-fiancé was living up the single life while she was still picking up the pieces from their break up. When she attended the Gala last year, they were newly engaged and, she had believed, madly in love. He was more than happy to show her off on his arm while women's gazes trailed after him wistfully. Now she hid at one of the cocktail tables lining the edge of the venue as West City's finest elites - business moguls, investors and celebrities - worked the circuit of renewing stale networking connections and pocketing new ones. Even the well-known faces from neighboring towns floated in and out of the foray.

Bulma's father, founder and president of Capsule Corporation, was the brains behind the largest tech company of West City. Just as integral as inventing, the need to mingle with current investors and potential backers helped to keep the company thriving. Her father, more intrigued by the process of creating versus the dryness of attending social functions, had passed the torch to his daughter for events such as this.

On any other evening, she enjoyed meeting new people. She loved immersing herself in conversation about politics and the advances in the scientific community, especially when it veered in the direction of practical application. Where science currently resided, theories about its future and setbacks that force companies, such as her father's, to rethink and revolutionize were topics she passionately engaged in. Those that frequented these events had often shared numerous conversations with her. The real thrill for Bulma, though, was when someone new to the scene challenged her expertise. They were the ones who saw her only as a pair of legs working the circuit to keep funding flowing for her father's company and treated her as such. It was always satisfying to put these naïve naysayers in their place. They learned, rather quickly, that Bulma Briefs was the other half of Capsule Corporation's inventions and ideas. She donned overalls and grease just as easily as an evening gown and makeup. Working as a second set of hands for her father since she first showed interest in his labs, she was born with a bow in her hair and a wrench in her fist.

The event wouldn't be so terrible, in fact she would have enjoyed herself immensely, if Yamcha wasn't in attendance as well. A starting player for West City's major league baseball team, he was obligated to attend as part of his contract with the team. The autumn event, hosted annually by the West City Titans, brought in funds to help families in need during the holiday season. Bulma was there not only for Capsule Corporation's benefit, but to also show support for such a noble and generous cause by helping to give back to the community.

When the blonde leaned in to giggle something into Yamcha's ear, Bulma turned away in disgust.

"Ignore him." ChiChi urged. "You're a single gal now! You should be working the room and making him jealous of _you_ , not the other way around."

"I guess," Bulma sighed. Twirling the stem of her glass in her fingers, she watched the pale liquid slosh around the as it left ghostly trails clinging to the sides.

"How about a bet?" ChiChi offered.

"A bet?" Bulma asked, perking up a bit.

Bulma was grateful that ChiChi allowed herself to be convinced to come. Although ChiChi's boyfriend, Goku, was sharing laughs and drinks with Yamcha and some of his teammates, it was nice to have an ally or two to help buffer the hushed gossip about their breakup which Bulma knew was the hot topic of the evening. Although ChiChi immediately took Bulma's side during the messy break up, Goku was his natural good-hearted self during the fallout. He refused to play favorites, despite the details in each side of their story, and instead remained neutral.

That's why Bulma kept him as a friend. No matter how bad someone's actions were, he was always able to find the good in a person despite all of the bad.

"What's your wager?" Bulma could feel the fog of her depression thin briefly.

"Dish duty…for a month."

"Dish duty? With as much as you have Goku over, are you sure you want to put _that_ on the table?" Bulma teased. "You know feeding a small army has less clean-up then feeding him…dirtying almost every pot and pan we have. Are you sure you're willing to banish him from the house for an entire month after you lose?"

"What makes you so sure you're going to win?" ChiChi shot back with a smile. "You haven't even heard the details."

"I'm sure it will be a breeze." Bulma leaned forward with elbows resting on the table. She loved a challenge. With the possibility of being able to avoid dishwashing for the next four weeks, she was eager to accept. "What are your terms?"

"You have to get the number of a guy –"

"Oh, that's easy!"

" – of _my_ choice. No matter who I choose."

"On the condition that he has to be single." Bulma interjected with hand raised. "I don't need any more drama in my life right now."

"Agreed. You have until the auction or else you lose."

"Deal." Bulma stuck her hand out towards her friend. ChiChi's hand grasped Bulma's and a firm handshake was exchanged.

"So," Bulma's gaze drifted around the room studying the sea of faces bobbing before her. "Who's the lucky guy that gets to be hit on by _moi_?"

"Hmm," ChiChi scanned the room looking for the perfect guy to sabotage Bulma's efforts. "Oh! How about Mr. Short and Handsome over there?"

Bulma looked in the direction she was pointing.

" _Krillin?!"_ Bulma squealed in surprised horror over ChiChi picking one of Yamcha's closest friends. "Are you kidding me?"

"No!" ChiChi waved her hand dismissing the short, bald catcher on the team. "Behind him! The one who's leaning against the bar. His back is to us."

Bulma squinted through the crowd to see who ChiChi was referring to. Her face went slack when he turned around.

Bulma recognized _exactly_ who ChiChi picked.

"I know," ChiChi grinned. "Quite a catch, right?"

"No." Bulma sat back with arms crossed defiantly. "No, no, no, no, no. Pick someone else."

"Why?" ChiChi asked, confused by Bulma's reaction. "What's wrong with him? He may be a little short, but he sure is handsome."

"You don't know who he _is_?" Eyebrows raised in surprise, Bulma stared at her friend. "Seriously?"

"No I don't." Looking in Mr. Short-and-Hansom's direction, ChiChi shrugged. "Enlighten me."

Bulma cleared her throat and said matter-of-factly, "He's only the most self-centered, bigoted, pretentious asshole this side of West City."

"Who's an asshole?" Bulma turned to see Goku standing behind her with a drink in-hand.

"You're girlfriend." She said, shooting ChiChi a wink. "Are you enjoying the event?"

"Oh definitely!" Goku sat in the empty chair across from Bulma. "Thanks for inviting us." Sliding his seat closer to ChiChi, Bulma watched his hand move to hold ChiChi's under the table. Knowing the two of them all too well, she knew exactly how their fingers would be threaded with a comforting squeeze before settling on ChiChi's knee.

Fighting back the nostalgic longing tightening in her chest, Bulma cleared her throat. "Your welcome." Forcing the pang down, she drew up a warm smile. "It's the least I can do for everything you guys have done for me."

"Someone has to take care of you." ChiChi joked, winking at Bulma.

"So why's Cheech an asshole?" Goku asked, bringing the conversation back to the bet.

"I made a wager with Bulma," ChiChi explained. "I bet her an entire month's worth of dish duty that she couldn't get a phone number from – " Chi-Chi pointed at Mr. Short-and-Handsome " – that guy."

A moment of silence passed before Goku let out a low whistle. "Mr. Breigh from Train Insane? Wow, Cheech…you must really hate doing the dishes."

ChiChi looked from Goku to Bulma and back to Goku utterly confused. "How do you both know who he is and I don't?"

" _I_ know of him because I make it a point to know anyone that makes a seven digit salary and who is a powerful investor who might set his sights on Capsule Corp. _He_ \- " Bulma thumbed in gesture at Goku, " – knows of him because any fitness fanatic in the Northern Hemisphere has been inundated with Train Insane's gyms and paraphernalia. He has a reputation of having the same control issues as a dictator with every business he invests in. He pretty much works his way into the company by any means necessary, buying shares and seizing assets, then absorbs them through his incorporation. Capsule Corp has been sure to avoid the waters that shark swims in. I have _no_ want to go anywhere near him."

ChiChi waved her hand dismissively at Bulma. "I thought you were a mastermind genius or something. I'm sure you'll figure out a way to separate business from pleasure." She gave Bulma a wink. "Besides, going head to head with a power player like the one you just described might help you get out of your funk. Our couch cushion is starting to sag a bit."

"Oh ha ha ha." Bulma sighed. "Sorry Cheech but that's not going to happen. You're going to have to pick someone else."

"Nope. We agreed to the terms - a man of my choosing. You shook on it. The bet is on, unless you choose to forfeit?" ChiChi beamed with the knowledge that she bested her genius friend. It was a rare occasion when she could pull one over on Bulma. "Goku, sweetheart, would you like to come over tomorrow evening for dinner? I'll make sure to cook you a scrumptious four course meal with a succulent desert." She teased evilly.

"Alright! Alright!" Bulma conceded with hands up in surrender. She shot daggers at her turncoat friend. "I'll do it." Chair easily sliding away from the table, Bulma stood. "I have to go to the bathroom, first."

"I would wish you good luck, Bulma," Goku flashed her a toothy grin, "But that dinner tomorrow night sounds too good to pass up!"


	2. Anywhere but Here

"You can do this." Bulma muttered. "You are Bulma fucking Briefs. Men have been trailing after you since high school. You manage a Fortune Five-Hundred company, for Kami's sake. You've created some of the most innovative technological advances that have been decades ahead of their time. There's nothing to be nervous about."

The figure standing in front of her still seemed skeptical. The feigned confidence appeared to fall flat the minute the words left her lips. Her reflection stared back at her expectantly. Did it expect her to lose the bet? To make a fool out of herself? To continue the downward spiral of failure she couldn't seem to shake off the past few months?

Her reflection couldn't hide her lack of confidence behind the designer gown or makeup and curls. Instead, the glass revealed the insecurities she had been wrestling with since she was a child. While the last few weeks unwound around her, the struggles of her past began to haunt her.

As a child, she was spellbound by the mysteries of science. While girls were dressing up dolls and playing house, Bulma was discovering to world through her own adventures and equations. As boys were being taught how to change the oil in their hand-me-down cars, Bulma was getting her own hands dirty learning the hands-on engineering skills necessary to be just as apt, if not more so, as her father. Girls couldn't relate to her and boys were intimidated by her which made her childhood troublesome. Labeled as an outcast, Bulma found solace in physics. It was as much of a puzzle as it was a surety. Never completely predictable but always constant, she took comfort in knowing that the secrets of the universe were waiting to be discovered under her inquisitive eyes and sure hands.

As time passed, Bulma spent more days as her father's shadow then sitting at a desk in school. It was during that transitional time that nature molded her lanky arms, pencil frame and delicate features into the woman staring back at her in the mirror.

First to develop a figure, she was thrust into a new, scarier, kind of scrutiny. Boys had finally taken an interest in her. They wanted to carry her books, asked to walk her to class and offered rides home. The need to be accepted, to fill the void of insecurity that made her feel alone even when surrounded by people, was being given its due. Nevertheless, this new thrill was short lived. It wasn't Bulma that these boys wanted, but the mature figure she carried that turned these fun-loving, mud-wrestling boys into ogling eyes and lusting hormones.

Fate, in its fickle humor, had dealt Bulma another bad hand. Her female classmates grew jealous of the attention she was getting which created a larger canyon between her and her peers. She eventually spent more time diving head-first in her hobbies and interests after learning that being independent wasn't as terrible as the school's catty social network dictated it should be.

Once she hit her stride in high school, despite the negativity she encountered, she found a few friends that accepted her for all of her quirks and downfalls. First, she met Goku - a young exchange student too wrapped up in youthful wonder to care about such things as women and social statuses. His drive for adventure easily kept up with Bulma's. Becoming fast friends, she met Yamcha soon after. He was the first boy who was attracted to Bulma by more than just a pretty face. Finally, ChiChi joined their troupe, moving with her father from a trade village in the mountains to the outskirts of West City after her mother passed away. The rag-tag group was inseparable and, for the first time in her life, Bulma felt like she finally found her place in life.

But life couldn't leave her well enough alone.

Her friendships held mostly steadfast, but their dynamics shifted and realigned as unpredictably as tectonic plates. ChiChi fell in love with Goku and he, in his own way, loved her back. Bulma and Yamcha quickly became an item early in their friendship and talk about living a life together quickly developed. They all went off to their colleges and careers and began their own lives. They kept in touch with phone calls, dinners together and late nights out but the familiar void Bulma had felt growing up seemed to reappear as time passed. Busy with responsibilities, working for her father and trying to stay ahead of technologic advances, she still always found a way to carve out time for Yamcha. Even after Yamcha was drafted to the Titans, they always made time for one another.

She surmised that was why their breakup shook her so badly. It came out of nowhere and left her questioning her self-worth as a whole. Pair that with a large account that recently fell through, a multi-million dollar government contract that just experienced a major setback and one of her experiments taking out an entire wing of the Capsule Corp labs and one might define her situation as a 'rough patch'.

Dressed in a stunning mermaid styled sleeveless gown, neckline plunging seductively into royal blue taffeta that shimmered as it hugged against her curvy frame, she longed for a comfortable t-shirt and jeans. Even though she knew she turned heads with her attire, she couldn't help but feel like she was projecting the negativity she was drowning in. Even with the flowing curls cascading around her face and subtle application of makeup around her aquamarines, all she saw was a girl who'd rather be elbow deep in grease and machine parts than have to put on her debonair act and work the crowd.

"Plus," she murmured to herself encouragingly, "You have a bet to win."

Taking one last look in the mirror, she fluffed her curls, adjusted the sweeping skirt of her gown, and headed back into the ballroom.

The room was buzzing with the evening's festivities. People mingled in groups gathered throughout the grand ballroom. Drinks and pleasantries were plenty. Evergreen garland dotted with vibrant red bows and twinkling white lights scalloped the walls. Christmas trees littered with the finest silver ornaments and scarlet garland towered in the corners of the room where seating was offered on luxurious velvet cushions. The trill of a violin from the string quartet floated around the room as the music reached its peak and began its gentle decrescendo to settle just under the conversations of the guests.

Weaving through the crowd towards the bar, she was greeted with casual _hello's_ and brief introductions by business partners with potential connections. Between the polite exchanges, Bulma stole glances towards the table her friends were still sitting at. ChiChi gave her a laughing thumbs down while Goku looked between the exchange torn with who he should be rooting for – his appetite or his longtime childhood friend. Sticking her tongue out at the pair, she finally sidled up next to the self-made millionaire she had been coerced into speaking to.

She was barely given a sideways glance as he continued his conversation with the two muscle-stacked sentinels taking up the majority of available space in front of the bar. Leaning on her arms against the bar top, she casually shifted her weight so one bent leg rested on the foot rail accentuating her hips swaying seductively in the direction of her target. She immediately got the attention of the bartender, as well as a good number of the surrounding men. Ordering a glass of wine, she felt the weight of her earlier thoughts lift as confidence started to take its place.

"Whatever it is you're selling, I'm not interested." A dark voice rumbled beside her.

Taking the drink from the bartender's hand with a nod of thanks, Bulma looked in the direction of the comment only to come face to face to back of a well-tailored suit.

"Excuse me?" Bulma asked indignantly. How dare he just assume her posturing was for him? And even though it was…how dare he be so curt about it?

Her temper sputtered when Mr. Dark-and-Handsome turned to set his full gaze on her. His eyes, deep and piercing, didn't take their focus from hers. His sharp, chiseled jawline seemed even more defined as his brows twitched in an unspoken dare of challenge. Although they were almost the same height, his posture demanded the same respect as the behemoth whose conversation she interrupted and now looking curiously at her.

This was the point where most would mutter a barely coherent apology and scurry away as quickly as their legs could carry them - where the whispers of gossip proceeding Bulma were undoubtedly confirmed and embellished to new heights.

"Since you seem to be deaf, I will repeat myself a touch louder." Irritation intertwined with his low baritone had the same resonation as a growl of warning. "Whatever it is that you are selling, I am _not_ interested."

Common sense would have told her to abandon ship. To fly the flag of defeat because she was embarking on a course that she had no hope of surviving. But it had been a bad couple of weeks for Bulma and her common sense died when she walked by the paparazzi pictures of Yamcha caught with another woman being advertised on the front page of the seedy tabloids lining the newsstands outside of work.

Bulma lifted her chin, anger at his insinuation burning to her core. "And what makes you think I'm selling something?"

Irritation brooding, she lacked the ability to back down.

Eyes glistening in piqued interest, he took a sip of his drink before leaning an elbow casually against the bar. "There is only one reason why a woman would be dressed like that at a function like this…one who is trying to separate a man from his money. So whether you're selling me a pitch, what's between your legs, or both… _I'm not interested_."

Bulma ignored the nervous chuckles and hushed whispers of those eavesdropping on their exchange. Drawing her shoulders back, she set her glass of wine down carefully.

"I would rather watch my father's company burn to the ground then allow your dirty, greedy paws to touch one dime that's involved with our corporation." Her voice was calm and clear even though she could feel herself starting to shake in rage from his insult. "And I wouldn't let you come anywhere _near_ what's between my legs. There isn't enough money in the world to make me occupy the same room with a dickless scumbag like yourself."

The corner of his mouth lifted a millimeter. His eyes narrowed dangerously as he leaned in towards her. "I'd be more than happy to show you just how large of a dick I have. I'll have my secretary contact you to make an appointment."

As Bulma opened up her mouth to spit out her retort, the sound behind her made her sputter.

"Bulma?" The sound of her name washed over her like a bucket of ice water. Taking a heartbeat to draw in a shallow breath, she slowly turned towards the man she had been going out of her way to avoid all evening.

Yamcha's face was full of worry as his studied her. "Is everything okay, Bee?"

She cringed away as he reached out to rest a supportive hand on her shoulder. It hovered awkwardly in the air for a second before it drifted back down to his side.

"I'm fine, Yamcha," Bulma choked out. The spark of anger from her conversation with Mr. Dark-and-Handsome was extinguished. Haughty demeanor collapsing in on itself, she glanced around for the most convenient exit.

"Are you sure?" His eyes flickered to the figure standing silently behind her. "I came over for a drink and overheard your conversation. I just wanted to make sure…"

"Thank you for worrying but I'm okay." She focused on her words to try to hide the quiver in her voice. This was her first time talking to him since she kicked him out of the house. She wasn't prepared for the unsetting swell of emotions flooding over her. Hate, fear, gratefulness, doubt, sadness…they all crashed into each other in haphazard organization both one at a time and all at once. As hot tears stung her eyes, she half pleaded in a hushed whisper, "Please go."

"But B-"

"She said she's fine." The gruff, sharp tone of Mr. Dark-and-Handsome quieted the whispered conversations around them.

Bulma looked down with a silent plea for one of the holiday decorations to catch on fire before the exchange turned into more of a spectacle then it already was. She could see the headlines slamming her yet again. This time caught between a strange man from way off her radar and her ex fiancé.

"Excuse me," squeaked the muffled sound of ChiChi's voice carrying over the gathering crowd. People shifted to the side to let her through.

"Bulma!" ChiChi gasped, pushing through the suit jackets and sequin wall surrounding Bulma. She reached out and grabbed Bulma's arm, shooting Yamcha a dirty look. "There you are! Goku wants to see you before the auction. Come on!"

Allowing herself to be dragged back through the aisle ChiChi had created, Bulma was grateful for the interruption. She couldn't help glancing back over her shoulder at Mr. Dark-and-Handsome as the crowd started to dissipate with excited laughter and conversation rehashing her exchange with the two men.

Still leaning against the bar, he carefully watched her over the rim of his glass, smiling mischievously into his drink.


	3. Concessions

"I still think being held hostage on a date with the guy constitutes a win." Bulma grumbled to the growing stack of dirty dishes. She stood with arms crossed while ChiChi finished adding the last of the lunch plates to the already leaning tower.

"You'll be fine," ChiChi gave Bulma a pat on the back, feigning sympathy. "Being forced to spend time with him might not be all that bad. Look at it this way; at least you're getting a free meal out of it courtesy of the Titans." She threw over her shoulder as she walked out of the kitchen.

With a loud _humph!_ Bulma started the dreaded task of washing, scrubbing and drying from the remnants of ChiChi's extravagant lunch.

"I should seriously consider getting a dishwasher." Bulma complained to no one in particular as her thoughts wandered.

Despite Bulma losing the bet, ChiChi _did_ have a point. It would be nice to step away from work and get out of the house for an evening and have a nice dinner out.

Of all people at the event, though, why did it have to be _him_?

In a moment of weakness, Bulma had impulsively signed up to be a part of the charity auction for the event. In past years, some companies chose to donate lavish vacations to help raise funds for the Titan's Charity Gala while others offered spa passes, concert tickets, and a whole slew of temptations that could be bid on by both small and large wallets alike. The most anticipated event of the Gala was always the last to close the evening – the date auction.

The week during the government contract mishap was Bulma's breaking point. Feeling sorry for herself and needing the affirmation that she was still wanted in some regard, she decided to purchase a spot in the date auction. The entry fee wasn't exorbitant and she didn't mind parting with a fraction of her paycheck knowing it was going to a good cause. Her motives were more selfish, though, then helping the needy. Her goal was to use the auction as a way to prove to Yamcha, as well as herself, that she was a person worthy of being desired, shallow or not. Since it would be the first time she would be going to such an event unattached, she was hoping that she would catch the interest of the attendees.

 _But_ , she thought miserably, resisting the urge to smash a plate against the sink, _that certainly backfired._

Nerves about standing in front of the crowed eventually caught up to her Bulma began to second guess her decision to be in the auction. She was so shaken by the unexpected encounter with Yamcha, only minutes before the anticipated event, that she had considered leaving and sending a check for the money lost in her absence.

Bulma wanted be a part of the event to prove to herself that she was getting over him; that he was just a silly stepping-stone on her way to who she was destined to become in her father's self-created empire. It took only a brief encounter with Yamcha to make her confidence pitch with uncertainty. Thank Kami for ChiChi, in all of her overbearing mothering instinct, to come to Bulma's aid and help get her out of the embarrassing mess that had her cornered.

When she walked up the stairs to flaunt her assets for charity, her ears rang with the words that were spit at her from the target who's number she had failed to get.

 _Whatever it is that you're selling, I'm not interested_ , he had jeered. Standing on stage, she felt like the streetwalker that he had insinuated she was. Putting on a fake smile and strutting a flirtatious saunter, she did her best to separate herself from the crowd and try to put the charity ahead of her selfish thoughts.

Guests called out their offers, predictably desiring Capsule Corp's next heir for an evening. Winning would give the highest bidder the opportunity to make a strong networking connection. It was also a chance for some to try an attempt to loosen her legs with charm and promise of wealth. Because of this possible trophy to obtain, bragging rights of bedding the newly single Bulma Briefs could be obtained in some of the bidders' diluted minds.

Each bidder had an agenda and with every bid while Bulma had a harder time feeling confident in her decision to follow through with participating.

Two men, both drooling over her as if business was the last thing on their minds, started a vigorous bidding war. Her heart fluttered with the thrill of excitement when it reached ten thousand dollars. She couldn't believe it when the price climbed up to twenty thousand. In a moment of panicked clarity, Bulma realized that such a highly paid dollar might carry the expectation of engaging in some type of physical repayment to the winner.

Panic starting to rise, her eyes darted to the stairs as she tried to decide on her escape route before anyone could stopped her.

It was the ending bid that made her jaw yawn in disbelief. A dark voice, commanding the immediate attention of the room, boomed out a bid of fifty thousand dollars.

The room became eerily silent as all attention turned towards the caller's origin. The auctioneer had stuttered at the amount that had escalated to twenty thousand before the call of fifty.

Recovering from the shock, the auctioneer repeated the new bid. "Fifty thousand dollars going once."

Bulma could feel herself paling at the realization that _he_ had bested her –

"Going twice,"

– after she had snidely remarked that there wasn't enough money in the world to force her to be in the same room with him.

"Aaaand…."

A dramatic pause dragged over the crowd. The sharp rapping of a wooden gavel on the podium punctuated the words, "Sold! To Mr. Vegeta Breigh for fifty thousand dollars!"

Bulma wanted to die.

Remembering the way he lifted his glass of scotch in toast at her from across the room, smug look of satisfaction glimmering on his face, had her blood boiling with the same hateful fervor as it did when she finally gathered herself and stomped off the stage.

The crash of shattering porcelain startled her from her memory. At her feet lay the broken pieces of the plate that slipped from her soapy fingers.

"Seriously?!" Bulma yelled in renewed frustration.

Drying off her hands and throwing the towel at the counter, she went to the closet to get the broom and dustpan. As she was sweeping up the jagged pieces of porcelain littering the floor, she resolved to go for a long, brisk run before getting ready for her evening's torture.

* * *

"That's what you're wearing tonight?" ChiChi's disapproval was obvious in the way she wrinkled her nose at her roommate.

"What's wrong with my outfit?" Bulma asked looking down at her blue jeans and cream top.

"Nothing," ChiChi sighed. "I just thought Tivondra was supposed to be an upscale restaurant, that's all."

"It is." Slumped on the couch, feet up on the coffee table, Bulma continued to flip through the channels ignoring her friend's criticism.

ChiChi joined her on the couch, giving Bulma a sideways glance. "Don't you want to, I don't know, dress a bit nicer for the atmosphere?"

"Why?" Bulma snapped in irritation. "I don't even want to go on this stupid date. I shouldn't have signed up for it in the first place. Now I'm stuck suffering through an entire evening because some asshole had to prove how big his dick was."

ChiChi was silent for a moment as she watched the sitcom Bulma had stopped on. "He paid a lot of money for a good cause, Bulma." She offered softly.

"So now I need to play the role of a prostitute because he had fifty grand to waste just to prove a point?" Throwing the remote onto the coffee table, Bulma crossed her arms with a frustrated pout. "Are you going to suggest I sleep with him since he decided to overbid? I mean, he did pay an _awful_ lot of money, so I guess that's only right in your eyes too, right?"

ChiChi threw her hands up in defense, Bulma's anger billowing in full-force.

"Hey! Just think for a minute!" ChiChi protested. "This is the first time you'll be out with a guy on a date that isn't Yamcha. The bid made the evening's news for the most raised funds at the Charity Gala in over a decade. It's not like the details of the auction are a secret, since they end up on all of the tabloids and gossip shows anyways. You don't think people are going to be watching you the moment you step foot in Tivondra?"

A long pause passed as Bulma digested ChiChi's irritating wisdom. "I guess you're right, Cheech." Bulma consented.

"For as smart as you are, you're awfully dumb sometimes." ChiChi teased, pulling a reluctant smile from her friend. "Come on, I'll help you look more…like a new and improved you."

"Wow," Bulma rolled her eyes, "You really know how to make a girl feel special, huh?"

Dragging Bulma off the couch, ChiChi headed upstairs with Bulma in tow.

ChiChi dove into Bulma's closet head first as she rummaged through the array of clothes Bulma owned before she plucked select garments off their hangers. Laying different combinations out on the bed, ChiChi chose a complete outfit and handed it to Bulma. She shooed her unmotivated friend into the bathroom to change.

"Well?" Came Bulma's question, interrupting ChiChi who was looking through her jewelry box. She turned around with a short gold necklace, pearls cascading from the delicate chain, in-hand. An approving smile slid across ChiChi's face as her grumpy roommate hovered in the doorway separating the bedroom from the bathroom suite.

Bulma was now dressed to impress and ChiChi was quite proud of herself.

Bulma donned an almost sheer long sleeve cream blouse held together by a row of gold buttons nestled low down the front of the dipping neckline. She had it tucked into an elastic waistband of a plum skirt settled just above her hips. The skirt's scalloped hem stopped mid-thigh with just enough length to bend over without showing what was concealed underneath. Black nylons complimented the colors with a pair of velvet grey-wedged boots stopping above her ankle made the outfit more winter friendly. ChiChi handed her the necklace and beamed at the completed outfit.

Checking herself out in the mirror as she fumbled with the clasp, Bulma couldn't help but smile.

"I forgot how fashionable you used to be before you got all conservative dating Goku." Bulma swiveled from side to side admiring the ensemble.

"Your welcome?" ChiChi muttered.

"No…seriously," Bulma pulled her into a hug. "I love it. Thank you for looking out for me."

"Kami knows someone has to." ChiChi smiled, stepping back. "Now put some makeup on and do something with your hair."

"Yes ma'am." Bulma faked a military salute on her way back into the bathroom to do just that.

After taking the time to finish putting herself together, Bulma came bounding down the stairs. Feeling a bit like her old self, ready to tear up the town until the wee hours of the evening, she felt refreshed after her long hiatus from society.

"Someone seems happy about her evening tonight." Goku called approvingly from the couch.

"Goku!" Bulma gasped, startled. "I didn't know you were coming over."

"He came over to watch a movie with me." ChiChi said, coming out of the kitchen cradling a bowl of popcorn.

"Don't tell me you're going to cook dinner for him again…" groaned Bulma.

"No, she's not." Goku chuckled with a wink. His warm smile was contagious. "I offered to order a pizza so Cinderella could have the morning off."

Walking to the back of the couch, Bulma bent over and gave her old pal a hug. "Thank you. The evil step-sister has been working my delicate hands down to the bone with cleaning up after lavishly uncharacteristic meals lately."

ChiChi settled in next to Goku who slung a lazy arm across her shoulders. "The evil step-sister might change her mind and try an attempt at making a deluxe pizza from scratch."

"Okay!" Bulma said, straightening up and laughing. "You win! It would be nice to wake up without the leaning tower of pizza dishes to greet me in the morning."

Grabbing her favorite waist-length leather biker jacket and purse from the closet, she looked at the two cuddling on the couch from the front door. A pang of jealousy tugged at her. She was grateful to have both of them in her lives, and she couldn't be more thrilled that they were together, but that didn't stop the reminder of the evenings she would share with Yamcha snuggling on the couch watching TV. There were times, such as this, where she felt like a third wheel. She knew it was never purposeful, and she never let on that she thought such things, but she was still finding it difficult to adjust from the way things used to be to how her life was now.

Looking at the cardboard box holding the last of Yamcha's things in the closet, she felt determined to close the door on that chapter of her life and start to move on. She gave it a hard kick with the toe of her boot, making the love birds on the couch turn curiously towards her.

"Make sure to tell Yamcha to come by sometime soon to pick up the rest of his stuff." Bulma called to Goku. "Or better yet, just take it to him when you leave. I'm sick of looking at it. I'm off to dinner. I'll see you guys later!"

"Okay, have fun!" They both called as she shut the door behind her.


	4. Wine and Dine

Awkward silence hung over the table seated for two. More correctly, awkward silence seemed to hover over Bulma as she skimmed the drink menu. Vegeta sat nonchalantly, unfazed by her nervous silence as they waited for their server to greet them and take their drink order.

She had entered the restaurant to find that Tivondra lived up to the hype of fine dining. Clean white linens covered the traditionally set tables, yet complimented a perfect transition into elegantly contemporary décor. The low lighting complimented the bright whites as deep shadows gave the space dramatic flair. The people were as elegantly dressed as the room and Bulma silently thanked ChiChi for dragging her into her bedroom to change.

She had walked up to the concierge to give the reservation name when she was intercepted by her date for the evening. Startled by the way he seemed to materialize from the shadows, the hint of amusement at her surprise was subtle but noticed, she tried to hide her surprise with a coughing fit. He studied her, but not the way one would try to undress a woman with their eyes. No, his focus was on her face as his eyes moved almost undetected to study her features. She couldn't help but feel herself blush, turning away with a nervous smile to shield herself from the intense scrutiny. Being noticed without the hungry lust-filled stares was both flattering and unnerving.

Vegeta stood dark and handsome, just as he did at the Gala. He appeared as calm and calculating as he was when he threw his insults at her at the bar. His eyes sharp and unyielding, she was waiting for this overly sophisticated man to shred her newly found confidence with one well-placed quip at her expense. Despite her fear, no one around them seemed to pay attention to the two whose exchange at the Gala was publicized in papers and gossip shows for days after. The patrons mostly ignored the two of them, already desensitized to well-known figures due to the clientele that frequented Tivondria.

Sneaking a look at Vegeta's appearance, she noted that the suit he wore tonight was a different color. It was made with even finer quality then she remembered him wearing at the Gala. The lavish charcoal suit, spun with elegant threads of wool and cashmere, reflected a subtle sheen in the dim lighting. Fighting the urge to reach out to feel the suit's texture, she stopped herself when the attendant called for them to follow as they were taken to their table.

Gesturing in gentleman's grace for Bulma to take the lead, she walked confidently through the maze of tables doing her best to ignore the tables that began to show subtle signs of recognition of who they were. A firm but gentle hand pressed against the small of her back as Vegeta stepped beside her. Distracted by the feathery touch of his hand through the thin chiffon fabric of her blouse, the heel of her shoe caught on the carpeting. Catching herself with more grace then she gave herself credit for, she hoped no one detected her misstep. As the contact of his hand pressed harder with more support as he guided her to their seat, Bulma flushed a second time realizing her klutziness didn't go unnoticed.

The warmth of his hand, mixed with the smell of sandalwood from his cologne, made her heart flutter. She had been acutely aware of his close proximity, which made her feel unbalanced – a sensation that a woman in the driver's seat of a multibillion-dollar company wasn't used to experiencing. The new, unfamiliar sensation seeped into her veins like a heady drug.

"If you adjust the silverware one more time," his smooth voice quipped, bringing Bulma back to the table, "They may hire you to set all of the tables to Tivondra's already high standards."

"Sorry," Bulma mumbled, letting go of the fork and grabbing the drink menu again.

Hiding the heat spreading across her cheeks from her interrupted thoughts behind the menu, she looked around anxiously to see if any of the wait staff weaving around the tables were heading in their direction.

When the server finally arrived at the table, a basket of warm bread with an olive oil seasoned dip in tow, Vegeta ordered a scotch on the rocks. She ordered a Cabernet. The server gave them dinner menus and left in the direction of the bar.

"So the infamous Ms. Bulma Briefs enjoys the faux sophisticated drinks?" Her date asked.

"Just as much as Mr. Vegeta Breigh seems to predictably lean towards the stuffy classics." She replied.

"Predictable?" A sly smile spread across his lips. "I'm sure I can be pretty capricious if the mood is ripe enough."

His choice of words mixed with her imagination helped to smolder the fire the heat that his hand had ignited. The quick wit laden with innuendo was just as addicting as it was intriguing. Feeling a bit more confident, she had the urge to test just how fast his retorts could fire. The thought that she was almost a step behind his wit was intoxicating. As much as she wanted to show him that she was smarter, she didn't want to look like a fool if she couldn't keep up with witty conversation.

Bulma reminded herself that tonight she had nothing to prove.

She reached in the basket and took a piece of the warm bread. Soaking it in the oil, she looked at Vegeta through her eyelashes only to catch him watching her. Feeling her cheeks heat yet again, she cursed at herself silently.

Was there ever a time when a man actually saw just _her_? What was it about her holding all of his attention that made her feel so unbalanced around him?

She was grateful when the waiter dropped off their drinks. Their orders were taken, menus gathered and then once again left alone to sit in heavy silence.

"So you started the company Train Insane?" Bulma asked. She wished the laughter at the bar or the cough from behind her would distract him and give her a moment to breathe.

"In a way." The corners of his mouth tugged upward when she raised her brows in expectation of an explination.

"Well that's not ambiguous at all." He was impudent at the Gala but this mysterious air that seemed to emit from him was a welcome, albeit odd change.

"I did start it; however I am only the brain of the company."

"What else is there besides the brain?"

"Now that," he leaned forward to rest his elbows on the table, "Is quite an ignorant question coming from someone who helps to run and oversee her father's company."

Normally she would bristle at the assumed hidden insult. She was no idiot. Instead, she sipped her drink thoughtfully.

"The man you were with at the Gala?" She remembered him well. If it weren't the massive height that made him so memorable, putting the man well over a head taller than any other patron, it was the muscles straining the ill-fitted blazer jacket. "He's the grunt of the company?"

"No," The way his jaw set in offense after her question gave her another hint.

"Not a grunt…" She trailed off as their salads arrived at the table. She thought of the way Vegeta's muscles in his neck twitched in agitation at the word _grunt_. Tossing the lettuce with the dressing, she continued, "Someone close that came into the business world when the company first started? Someone you'd consider family?"

Swallowing a forkful, he answered, "Correct. A close friend of my family had the drive to start the business, but lacked the resources. I backed him financially with the agreement that I would oversee the running of the business."

"So you leech off of another man's ideas, someone who's practically family, for your own financial gain?" Bulma accused. "That, indeed, sounds honorable."

She didn't intend to spit the words out with such disgust, but she remembered the way the jacket pulled awkwardly on the man. Did Vegeta take such a large portion of the profits that his 'close family friend' couldn't even afford to buy himself a suit that fit properly?

Laying his fork down and pushing his salad aside. He regarded her for a long moment before answering, "I'm not sure how helping someone realize their dream is considered leeching?"

"How is it not? You take someone's ideas, their heart and soul, and twist it to fill your own wallet!" She did her best to keep her voice under control despite her outrage at his self-centered naivety. "You don't help them with their dreams, you steal them."

Some of the conversations around their table trailed off mid-sentence as the nearest ones glanced curiously at them. Clearing her throat, Bulma gulped down more of her.

She didn't know what was going on with her. One moment she was coming undone just by his gaze and the next she wanted to pummel the haughty demeanor out of him. Her emotions were playing tug o' war with her psyche and the string between the two was becoming more tense by the minute. With a few, hopefully masked, deep breaths Bulma looked up at him with regained composure.

"I'm not sure I understand how you find yourself in a more righteous position then myself," Vegeta crooned. The little composure she had gained carelessly slipped through her fingers by his words. "In fact, I find it funny that you seem to be under a delusion that you're better than myself when it comes to other people's hopes and dreams."

"Excuse me?!" The sudden flare of heated anger raised her voice a few pitches. The conversations around them hushed. "What the hell is _that_ supposed to mean?"

A nervous server cleared his throat next to their table. Leaning back in his chair, Vegeta made space on the table for dinner as the server took their salad plates and set their dinners in front of them. Eyeing their glasses, another round was offered to them both. Vegeta answered _yes_ when Bulma replied _no_ at the same time.

"Another round for the woman and myself." Vegeta stated matter-of-factly. Eyes widening at the tone, the server nodded and left to fetch them more drinks.

Picking up her fork, Bulma stabbed at her buttered scallops in frustration. Cutting one in half with the fork, she shoved it in her mouth while glaring at the calm figure across from her who was almost smiling to himself.

 _Pummel him to death_ , she decided sourly.

Once their drinks arrived, she defended herself quietly, "The funds my father's company obtains goes into research and development. Not one penny goes towards anything other then what those checks are intended for."

"And what happens when those projects fall through?" He questioned, cutting into his steak. She watched as the red-tinted juice spread decadently on the plate.

"We try to figure out what went wrong and give it another go." She answered. She watched him bite the cooked meat with reddened center off the tip of his fork. She suppressed a shudder as her imagination tugged in the direction of all the things he might be capable of with that mouth. _What the hell is my problem?_ She couldn't shake the thought away as she cut into her asparagus.

"Do you ever reimburse those patrons whose projects go under completely?" She couldn't help but feel he was poking at her the way one would poke at dull embers, coaxing them to reignite and lap hungrily at a fresh piece of wood.

"No." She grit out as she focused her attention on eating. She refused to take the bait, even if her irritation demanded she engage him.

"So, if I understand correctly, I salvage a company that is far beyond the point of profitability unable to miracle itself out of the money pit it has fallen into. I breathe life back into it until it becomes a self-sustaining success and take a minor percentage of the dividends for my time, talent and effort. If the company fails, the owners not only lose their entire business and more, but I'm out of my invested funds and take the loss the same as them. I give them a small loan with mentoring and consultation and ask to be compensated accordingly." The waiter came by to gather some empty plates and glasses then quickly excused himself. "That, by your definition, is considered leeching." His eyes shone cruelly knowing he had Bulma cornered, "But when you gladly take a person's money and give them absolutely no payback, either material or financial and you remain whole, that's considered kind and just? Is that what you used as your excuse with the government project you almost tanked?"

With as much self-control as she could muster, Bulma laid her silverware carefully on the table. Finishing chewing, she washed it down with the last of her wine. Reeling from not only his hurtful comment, but knowing he had connections to confidential insight of Capsule Corporation's contracts, she made sure to carefully set the glass down instead of whipping it at his head. Balling up her napkin, she threw it on her plate and stood.

"If you'll excuse me," She spat the words at him with venom as she pushed in her chair, "I have other people's investments to waste." Voice catching as she held back tears, the comment about the government contract cut more deeply then she thought was capable. "I'm sorry that your purchase of a date with me didn't end the way you might have hoped. I guess I'm just a whore for money and lack the ability to seal the deal."

Without another word, and before Vegeta's dumbfounded open mouth could utter any more insults at her, she turned and stormed out of the restaurant without bothering to stop at the coat check on her way out.


	5. Fickle Fate

Bulma rubbed her eyes as an infomercial droned on from the television. Groggy and irritated, the insistent _tap tap tap_ on the front door repeated, followed by another chime of the doorbell making her cringe.

Grumbling, she dragged herself off the couch. Stumbling over an empty bottle of wine, now rolling under the sectional, she tugged at her twisted shorts indecently riding up her backside. The persistent knocking was making her throbbing headache worse.

"Alright, alright!" She yelled at the door. "Hold your freaking horses."

Unlatching the deadbolt, she opened the door. Seeing the familiar face staring back at her, worry knitted on his brow, sent a chill of recognition racing through her mind. Limbs almost to numb to move, Bulma started to close the door in his face.

His hand slapped on the solid wood to stop it.

"Bulma, wait." Yamcha protested. "I'm just here to get my things and see how you're doing. Please, just let me come in."

"I am way too hung over for this." She muttered under her breath. Letting go of the door, she allowed it groan open as she stepped back with a sigh and an exaggerated sweep of her arm. "Fine, Yamcha. Come in."

Crossing the threshold, he eyed her cautiously as she left him in the doorway to go to the kitchen. He followed her silently, taking in the house they had shared together such a short time ago.

Getting herself a glass of water, she didn't bother to offer one to him. Instead, she stood leaning with her hip resting on the counter, arms crossed and drink in hand.

"I…um…" Yamcha stammered, fidgeting with the wine key on the counter of the kitchen's island. "I heard from Goku that you took a few days off from work. Is everything okay?"

"Why wouldn't everything be okay?" Bulma didn't bother hiding her sarcasm.

"After that auction-date thing, Chi-Chi had mentioned you didn't seem like yourself and told Goku you took some days off of work." His rushed the words out. "I just wanted to make sure you're okay."

Bulma opened her arms and gestured at herself, "Still in one piece, Yamcha." She refolded her arms and sipped the water. "I'm sure after everything you put me through, you'd have learned that I can take care of myself by now."

"Come on, Bulma! That's totally uncalled –"

"No, Yamcha, it's not." The harsh bang of her glass on the counter punctuated her interruption. "You didn't bother giving one ounce of a crap when you decided to see that girl behind my back. You didn't even bother _telling_ me that you were on your way out of our relationship and, instead, let the media run loose with the story instead of letting _me_ be the first to know that I was old news. I had to deal with that media storm myself. The fallout, the unending questions and the incessant hounding was my parting gift while you got off scot-free to do whomever, whenever you wanted. You didn't seem to care about me then, so I don't understand why you suddenly grew a conscious now."

The uncomfortable air around them swelled with silence.

Yamcha was the first to move, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Bulma, I will always care about you."

The pleading in his eyes pulled at her heart. As furious as she was, a deep part of her longed to feel his familiar arms pull her into a hug. The friendship and the history between them was battling with the broken heart he had given her. Wishing that such an embrace could sweep away the tarnish etched in her memory, she gently brushed his hand off her shoulder.

"Thank you for your concern, Yamcha, but I'll be alright." She smiled weakly at him. "I just needed a few days for myself."

"Are you sure? That Breigh guy didn't hurt you, did he?" He asked, eyes searching her face for the truth.

"Vegeta?" The reminder of her and Vegeta's conversation sparked up her residual anger. "He didn't lay a finger on me. We had dinner and I left."

She knew she wasn't completely convincing, the down side to having an ex that literally grew up with her and knew all of her tells, but to her relief Yamcha didn't press her further.

"If he does anything to you, you better tell Goku or me." His eyes held a dark promising threat that she couldn't help but smile at despite the irony. "We'll teach that meat-head some manners."

"Yes, sir." She said with mock salute. "I should get to work and try to catch up on the work I've missed anyway. I'm hoping the office didn't implode on itself."

Halfheartedly nodding in agreement, she could tell Yamcha had hoped she was going to ask him to stick around for a while. _Keep dreaming_ , she thought sadly.

Walking him to the door, she picked up the box of memories and tokens he had left behind when he moved out and handed them back to him.

"Thanks." He took them from her reluctantly. "If you drive into work tonight, be careful alright? The news keeps going on and on about this snowstorm that's supposed to be blowing in for the weekend. The media has dubbed it the Snowpocalypse."

"I will do so." Bulma nodded, leaning against the door frame. "Thank you for checking up on me, Yamcha. I'll be okay…like always."

The sound of the door shutting behind Yamcha resonated deeply throughout the room.

Even though she was glad to have the box gone, giving it to him echoed with finality that their relationship was irrevocably over. Walking back into the living room, she stood with hands on her hips to survey the fallout of the bomb that exploded after she came home from dinner. Dirty dishes, a few partially empty wine and liquor bottles and random articles of clothing were scattered on the floor.

 _It's no wonder Chi-Chi had mentioned my being home to Goku_ , she thought in disgust. Content that she had friends that watched out for her, even if one of them _was_ a cheating liar, she worked on finishing the living room before heading upstairs to put herself together and stop in at work.

* * *

A tower of paperwork blocked her view of the clock. The window facing the street was the only indication that it was long past a respectable dinnertime. Guessing that it was hours after quitting time, she pushed herself away from the table with a long stretch for her stiff muscles. The peaceful bubbling of fluids harmonized with machines whirring their own secret conversations added to the tranquility around her. No matter how tumultuous her life was, Bulma always found solace when she was elbows deep in her work.

Too tired to bother getting things put away for the weekend, she wearily eyed the stack of papers that she hadn't finished yet. They validated why she never bothered with taking sick days anymore. Longing for the carefree abandon of leaving her work and experiments behind to pick them back up at her leisure, she shrugged her lab coat off and dressed to meet the storm outside.

Pausing to look out the window, she watched the snow piling up on the street and sidewalks. The weather forecasters had actually been accurate with their doom-and-gloom warnings of nonstop snowfall for once. Few cars risked travel, save for a brave random driver that inched their way along the road and towards their destination. With a tug on the zipper of her jacket and the wish for a warmer winter coat, she hit the lights and made her way to the parking garage.

Yanking the keys out of her pocket, she opened the door to her little blue Toyota and sank inside. Starting the car, she breathed into her cold hands. Agitated that she forgot her hat and gloves at home, she waited for the engine to heat up before embarking on the slow drive home. It took a few frosty minutes before she was on her way to leave her Friday behind and spend the night curled on the couch with a good book and hot chocolate in hand.

Driving in the faint tire tracks from earlier travelers, she made her way to the freeway with the heat blasting while singing along with Foreigner at the top of her lungs. Lost in another chorus of Jukebox Hero, she didn't see her battery light pop on. She was belting out the details of the six string bought at a second hand store when her music cut out. Glancing at the radio, the face of it was dim. She realized something was wrong with her car when her entire dash went dark and the car shuddered in protest.

"Nononononono!" She moaned as she guided the car over to the side of the road as far as the snow would allow to avoid being sideswiped by a plow truck. Silently hoping she could get the car to restart, she braved the cold and popped the hood to make sure the connection to the battery was secure. After wiggling the connectors and validating they were in place, she slammed the hood and trudged back to the driver seat.

She tried the key and the dash flickered. "Seriously?" She yelled when the starter clicked but the engine refused to turn over. Punching the wheel in frustration, the weak cry of the horn startling her, she grabbed her purse. Digging out her phone call a tow truck she swiped the screen.

Nothing happened.

"What the heck…" She held the button on the side to turn it on but the phone sat dead in her hand. Her phone was unresponsive.

A colorful string of profanities tumbled out one after another when disbelief cleared and Bulma realized her phone was dead.

She whipped the useless phone at the floor of the passenger seat and rested her head against the steering wheel. Taking deep breaths to stop the hysteria starting to build with the realization of being stranded on the side of the road during one of the worst snowstorms since who-knows-when, she closed her eyes. Pressing the palms of her hands against her cheeks, she rubbed her face as she tried to guess how far away she was from an off ramp. Already dreading the frigid walk in the snow, the wind shook the little Toyota in an effort to unhinge her further.

Reluctantly, she got out of the car.

The snow, already piled well above her knees with no lull in the swirling flakes, floated silently down from the heavens. Completely disoriented from the drifts and piles of white around her, she figured she would push ahead. Hoping her memory was correct as she recalled seeing a sign telling drivers an exit was a mile and a half up the freeway, she pulled at her coat, shoved her hands in her pockets and started the lonely artic trek.

After what seemed like 15 minutes, Bulma felt like she was making good progress. Well, as good of progress as one could make when the proper clothing - like snow pants, gloves, scarf, hat and a thick ski jacket – was conveniently tucked safely away in a closet at home.

The walk was peacefully quiet. It seemed that everyone had decided to avoid braving the roadways until an engine and scraping noise, getting louder, followed behind her. Turning around, she saw a highway plow truck barreling down the road as it pushed a massive curling wave of snow and slush away from the road. She stopped, arms waving overhead to signal that she needed help.

As the truck got closer, she yelled out for the driver to stop. The driver either didn't see her or didn't care about her distress enough to slow down and help. As it drew closer, her eyes widened at the snow that was getting close enough to bury her. Cursing at her luck, she tripped over herself to get away from the side of the road. In her rush, she didn't see the way the ground sloped steeply underfoot. She tripped and rolled down the hill into the ditch, landing in a puddle of partially frozen water hiding under the snow.

Despite the sting of the cold against her entire backside, she lay in the water deflated. She stared up at the sky as the flakes swirled dizzily above her.

"Really Kami!?" She yelled to the heavens' demigod, halfheartedly waving her fist at the puffy clouds hanging low and swollen above. "What did I do so wrong to deserve this?!"

Bulma debated if it would be better to freeze to death where she lay or risk the walk home. She half expected the latter would surely finish her off but she decided to try her hand at finding a dry place to call a tow, despite her recent odds of success. Rolling out of the icy slop, the mix of wet and wind instantly froze her to the bone. Jeans completely drenched, boots squishing with every step and hair muddy and matted to the back of her head, she climbed out of the ditch and back onto the road.

 _Could tonight get any worse?_ She wondered miserably as she continued on her quest to find a freeway exit.

She walked alone and shivering, hands numb and legs stinging from the cold. A rare car would creep by without offering help or concern. She glared at each of the red taillights leaving her behind. She felt like her legs were plowing through the snow for close to an hour before a sleek black Audi hummed in a crawl next to her. As the passenger window slid smoothly downward, she walked towards it to talk to the driver.

Bending over, teeth chattering, she was about to pour out her gratitude that someone had stopped until she saw who the good samaritan was. There sat Vegeta, all warm and handsomely bundled, behind the wheel.

"Nope." She said as she turned away from the car and continued in the direction she was walking. _Thanks, universe, for proving me wrong,_ she thought as the car crawled alongside of her.

"Hey!" Came a yell from the car. "Woman! Stop walking!"

She waved the vehicle around her calling over her shoulder, "I don't need any help from you. Move along please."

The car stopped. Ignoring it, she walked ahead with eyes fixed on the bridge she hoped had an exit ramp. She pretended not to hear the car door open and slam shut. Even when he grabbed her arm, she tried to wrench away from him and to continue on, even as her feet stopped moving.

"I said," She whipped around to face him. "I don't need any help from _you_."

Regarding her with a frown, he shook his head in disbelief.

"You are wet, dirty and your lips are starting to turn blue from the cold." The fingers wrapped around her arm tightened. "You have two options. Option one, you get into my car and warm up. Option two, I _make_ you get into my car and warm up."

"You wouldn't dare." She challenged with narrowed eyes. Digging her heels in the snow, she refused to make any move towards the promise of warmth.

With an audible sigh, Vegeta yanked her towards him. When she resisted, he grabbed her around the waist and smoothly hoisted her onto his shoulder. A shrill scream of defiance barely pierced through the insulating white as she tried to kick out of his ironclad grip.

"Put me down you barbarian!" She howled as her fists thudded dully against his back.

Ignoring her, he opened the passenger door and dumped her inside. Warning her to stay put with a look not to be tried; he slammed her door shut then circled the car.

Putting the car in gear, he angled the heating vents towards her and turned the blowers on high. He pressed a button below the controls and she felt heat radiating from under her backside almost instantaneously.

"Lean back and warm up." He commanded without looking at her.

"But I'll get your seats all gross and dirty." She protested through chattering teeth. Once she got in the car, she couldn't stop shaking. Muscles tensing, already fatigued from the cold, she ached everywhere but she couldn't stop the violent shivering.

He gave her a level look before answering her, "I'll take it to a detail shop in the morning if I need to. It's leather so I'm not going to lose sleep over it. If I had a fabric interior, I'd strap you to the roof instead."

"Oh, ha ha ha." She grumbled as she leaned back. Heat enveloped her from all sides as she tucked her hands between her thighs.

"How did you end up on the side of the road, anyway?"

"I think my alternator went. A few days ago, my battery was dead when I went to start my car. Since it was close to four years old, I figured it was the battery. Turns out, I was wrong. The engine stalled when I was driving so now I have to get under the hood and replace the alternator and hope that fixes the problem."

"You work on your own car?" He asked in surprise.

"Of course! What would you expect from a lead engineer? Why would I pay someone else to do a shoddy job when I can fix it myself?" She asked staring out the window.

"You definitely did a great job the first time around. I guess you had to reward yourself with a snowstorm stroll to celebrate?"

"Sure, why not?" She grumbled, missing the joke. "So where are you dropping me off at?"

"We're going back to my place." He said.

"Yeah…thanks but no thanks. You can just drop me off at a gas station. I can call for a tow and my roommate to come pick me up."

"No. You're coming home with me. The tow trucks won't be pulling cars out of this until the snow stops. Life threatening assistance only would be my guess. Plus, the roads are too treacherous and only a fool would decide to venture out in this, friend in duress or not."

"So you're admitting you're a fool?"

Amusement glistened in Vegeta's eyes. "I drive an all-wheel drive RS5 equipped with snow tires. I make sure that I'm prepared for weather like this. So the question is: is the true fool the one driving the car or the one walking along the side of a highway in the middle of a snowstorm that gets rescued by said fool?"

"Point taken." Bulma mumbled as her uncontrollable tremors began to subside. "Do you have a cell I can borrow to call my roommate?"

"Of all people that I would expect the latest and greatest gadgets from, how do you not have a cell phone?" He asked in annoyance.

"I do." She replied sheepishly, "It's dead."

"Both a dead car and a dead phone on an evening like this?" He shook his head in wonder.

He handed his phone over so she could make the call. Dialing ChiChi's number, grateful they were friends long before electronic address books and cell phones were more of a fashion statement then a necessity. Bulma turned towards the window for feigned privacy as the phone rang.


	6. An Uncanny Truce

Bulma drew in a slow sip of cabernet. The dry wine tingled against the back of her throat, aiding in chasing away the last tendrils of the chill buried deep within her bones. As much as she hated being thrown over Vegeta's shoulder like some barbaric prize - _the brute_ \- she didn't realize how close she was to frostbite level danger until her hands, feet and face throbbed painfully with needles in the heat thawing her out. Although she was grateful for her unwanted savior sweeping her off her unwilling feet, she was still mad at him from their previous dinner.

ChiChi's reaction to Bulma's call was quite a surprise.

" _Hello?_ " A frantic, near-tears ChiChi had answered her call. " _Is this West City Hospital? Or the police? Are you returning my call about Bulma? Have you found her yet?!_ "

"Hey, it's me!" She had responded, trying not to laugh at her overprotective friend. "I'm fine. I'm not in jail or in the hospital."

" _Why haven't you been answering your phone?_ " ChiChi's worried concern flipped from relief into outrage when she stopped to breathe. " _I've been trying to get ahold of you for the past hour! I came in and you weren't home. The storm started getting worse so I called you but it went straight to voicemail. You didn't pick up at work and the news keeps going on and on about how bad the roads are so I started calling the local hospitals and police stations and –_ "

"Cheech! I'm okay, I promise." Bulma interrupted. "Vegeta picked me up and we're, um, going to hang out at his place for a bit." She remembered looking out the window to hide her face from Vegeta, hoping the uncomfortable embarrassment warming her cheeks was masked with rosiness from the cold.

If silence could have a registerable sound, it would have been the whisper of empty air in the phone's earpiece. " _Well…okay then. I don't think I want to know how that came about but you can fill me in later. Will you be home tonight?_ "

"It's going to depend on the weather, I guess." Bulma had snuck a glance at the man behind the wheel. Despite his stone-faced demeanor, she would have sworn he looked amused. "I'm hoping to be home by tomorrow. If not, I'll let you know so you don't have to put the entire city on high alert that I'm missing in action. Kami knows the press would have a field day with _that_."

" _Just be careful._ " ChiChi had warned. " _I don't trust Vegeta but I kind of feel sorry for him being holed up in a house with Hurricane Briefs._ "

Bulma laughed. "Yes _mother_." She agreed with mocking emphasis. Bulma could just visualize ChiChi shaking her head in humorous disbelief at the mess Bulma had gotten herself into as they hung up.

Both Bulma and Vegeta had ridden back to his place in silence after she thanked him for letting her use his cell. Only the drone of a dry talk-radio station discussing stock market values and world events effecting the DOW broke the silence in disinterested monotone as he drove towards the outskirts of town. Due to the snowfall, it was slow going and took almost double the time it normally should have.

Turning into a freshly plowed driveway, they had stopped at a modestly sized home. Bulma didn't know what she was expecting, exactly, but she knew that the one story house lacking in grandeur and elegance wasn't anywhere near the assumption of the dwelling Bulma believed he resided in. She imagined he lived in a large, expansive home that sprawled greedily across a landscape of towering topiaries, fence-like hedges, marble fountains and idealistic Greek statues carved in Vegeta's likeness. The simple home dressed in light grey paint, navy shudders and neatly conservative, albeit currently buried, landscaping rubbed uncomfortably against the impression Bulma had of him. She gave him a sidelong look wondering who this company-absorbing powerhouse actually was as he pulled into the garage.

She had followed him into the house, pausing when he gestured her to stop just inside the doorway. He grunted something that vaguely translated to ' _wait here_ ' and disappeared beyond the laundry room doors to return with an oversized towel and a neatly folded pile of clean clothes. He had explained where the shower was, off the laundry room and to the right, and directed her to join him in the kitchen when she was ready.

The memory of the shower triggered a foggy sigh ladled with contentment that brushed against her wine glass. She took another sip of her favorite tart burgundy wine, the same label she had ordered from the restaurant during their date. After a gloriously hot water that left the bathroom in a cloud of thick steam, highlighted with a glass of delectable wine and punctuated by the delightful smell of tender meat sautéing with mushrooms and onions, Bulma realized that this was the first time she had felt content in months.

She had to admit that the chef wasn't all that bad, either. Her hair curling in messy wet strands, oversized Metallica shirt and nylon basketball shorts she had to practically roll up to her chest so she wouldn't trip on them was in stark contrast to Vegeta's business attire that he hadn't changed out of. His white-starched dress shirt hugged his lusciously muscular frame. She wasn't sure if it was the wine or the after effects of mild hypothermia, but the way his muscles pulled and flexed under his shirt as he cooked dinner was deliciously mesmerizing. When he bent over to pull rolls out of the oven, she had to stifle an embarrassed giggle. She never knew what about a woman's backside was so appealing but she couldn't help but find the humor in appreciating Vegeta's butt in his tailored charcoal slacks.

"The wine from the restaurant," she asked, growing bored of the lack of conversation. "I see you drink wine I ordered, too?"

"Not really…I like to try new things." He said nonchalantly as he chopped fresh sprigs of rosemary to add to his sauté. The delicate aroma of sweet minty pine filled the kitchen. "You seemed fond of it so I decided to try a bottle for myself."

He turned towards the island she was perched at offering her a taste of steak with hand cupped underneath. Taking the fork, she plucked the meat off and chewed. The tender delicacy tasted like decadent garlic and butter, complimented with fresh herbs and spices and finishing with the sweet note of caramelized onions. She couldn't help closing her eyes and breathing in through her nose as she savored the taste.

When she opened up her eyes and handed the fork back to him, he was watching her intently, studying her reaction. It wasn't the intensity of his stare she was becoming uncannily used to it, but the hint of something that seemed to soften his hard features that caught her attention.

"Where did you learn to cook like this?" She asked, trying the deflect whatever it was in his eyes that held her momentarily lost.

"I've had the good fortune to invest in some amazing restaurants around town." A devilish smile lit up his face at the reminder of their conversation from their previous dinner. He turned to flip the spears of asparagus beginning to sizzle and smoke. "Occasionally I like to get into the kitchens and get my hands dirty after contracts have been signed. I've learned a bit of culinary skill these last few years while replacing average line cooks with renowned chefs to keep businesses afloat. Sometimes the business plan is solid, but the food ends up turning away customers. Bland entrees, spoiling food, and under or overcooked dishes or meals centered around frozen selections to keep cost down are the sinking anchor to any fine dining establishment. Some owners feel a loyalty to those that work for them, but they end up tying themselves to that anchor in their refusal to cut the rope to save themselves. Thanks to my connections, I hear the rumblings of up and coming chefs that show good potential. Most jump at the opportunity to run the back of house and their skill and creativity take the business farther than it ever would have gone. They show their appreciation by letting me into in their kitchens and giving me pointers."

"You are just full of surprises." Bulma said as he plated two meals and set them down with silverware rolled in cloth napkins. Already feeling the warm fuzziness from drinking on an empty stomach, she wisely asked for some water.

"How so?" he asked as he filled a glass with water and ice for her. He leaned against the island and poured himself a glass of the Cabernet, choosing to face her while standing to eat.

"Well," She could almost sense him baiting a trap similar to the one he set at Tivondra. She grinned at the thought of taking a dig at him the way he had her. "For a man that has arguably more resources then Kami himself, I thought you would have some kind of house staff at the ready. You do seem to enjoy bossing people around and having others do your work for you, after all."

He answered with a bellowing laugh - the complete opposite of what she was expecting.

Shooting him a confused look, she took another bite of the mouth-watering steak.

"Always looking for a challenge, huh?" He chuckled to himself as his laughter subsided. "Do you always have to pick apart and analyze a situation? Is that how you came to run Capsule Corp? By dragging your father by his coattails to the top of his empire because you refused to ride his?"

"Something like that." The flattery sliced away another piece of her assumptions. Unnerved by the complete opposite impression of a cutthroat tyrant that wanted to ruthlessly rule over every business in his wake, she rotated her glass as she watched the thick red tendrils of crimson wine clinging to the sides. "You just appeared in the business world a few years ago. How did you get so successful so quickly?"

Vegeta chewed on his food thoughtfully before answering. "I came from a family that dabbled in owning businesses."

"Have I ever heard of them?"

"More than likely not. We were living overseas before I moved here. We never went international, although my father practically sold his soul for the opportunity."

"What happened?" The faltering myth of a man who was heartless and without compromise held her captivated.

"My father owned a moderate and successful company but ended up selling it to a strongly influential local franchise. They made a number of promises that were enticing to him. He had agreed to continue working for the company as long as the employees were treated well without a disruption in production. Things seemed to go according to their agreement until a year or so in. The franchise shut down his operations and disbanded his entire company, citing legal jargon loopholes in the contract that my father's lawyers had missed. They took everything from us and left us with nothing. It was the worst, and last, business mistakes my father had ever made. He passed away shortly afterwards."

"I'm sorry." She offered, not entirely sure how to reply but feeling as if she should say _something_.

Putting his fork down, he shrugged his shoulders. "Nothing to be sorry about. The only one who should be sorry is my father. I found my own way, though. Eventually. He was extremely knowledgeable and I learned a lot from him growing up. His greed ended up getting the best of him, which is a valuable lesson I review every day."

He looked away to somewhere far and became noticeably distant. He seemed to be lost in thought until the sound of her fork dropping on the plate, the chime of metal on ceramic, pulled him back to the present. Bulma offered an apologetic smile and quickly grabbed her fork to continue eating.

Digesting what he had told her and how he accused her father of stealing money meant for investments started to nag at her. She could see why his digs at her and the Capsule Corporation empire felt so viciously precise.

She reminded him of an enemy that underhandedly destroyed his father - cold, calculated and cruel. She couldn't understand why Vegeta would even want to entertain time with anyone that held a breath of a reminder of such a vile act.

While Bulma stewed, Vegeta cleared their plates and refilled their glasses. He stood with arms crossed, hip resting against the island, as he watched her. She wasn't sure if she could ever feel comfortable under his sharp, hawk-like eyes.

"So," she turned in her chair to face him better, elbows resting on the cool granite with wine glass cradled in both hands. "Why me?"

He tilted his head at her question. "What do you mean 'why me'?"

Her foot circled the air in thought, "Out of all of the women you could have bid on, why did you pick me? You obviously knew who I was and I'm pretty sure I understand what your opinion of what I represent. So, knowing all of this, why did you waste fifty grand on a dinner with me?"

"I'm not sure what you're asking, exactly." he answered carefully.

She rolled her eyes and sighed. "If you see me on the same ledger as the company that ruined your father, why would you even bother wanting to have dinner? Do you like hurting company heads that mirror those that wronged your dad?"

Swirling the wine in his glass, Vegeta didn't answer. Instead, his lips pulled into a devilish smirk.

"Well?" she asked impatiently, feeling trapped knowing that if he decided to berate her she had no way to leave without trudging through some umpteen feet of snow.

"You intrigue me." He answered simply.

The words hung between them until she swatted them away with a wave of her hand and a snort of laughter. "If poking me with a stick just to see what happens is your definition of intrigue, then you and I have grossly different vocabularies."

Pushing himself away from the countertop, he walked to the fridge and pulled out a lusciously creamy mousse. Putting it next to her, he hovered by her shoulder for a moment. "More like figuring out just how deep the resolve of a person lies. As I said, you intrigue me." He said softly, shoulder brushing against hers as he reached past her to grab spoons for each of them. She was acutely aware of his proximity. It was dangerously thrilling. "You're the first person in a long while that isn't intimidated by the rumors. I don't often find people who are willing to have an open disagreement, let alone at an event. To insult me to me face at such a highbrow gathering? That was a first."

"So I embarrassed you and you felt like you needed to balance the scales?" She accused with chin raised. The questions, the unwavering attention, his closeness, the wine…it all combined to send a heated shiver through her. She wanted to push him away just as badly as the desire to feel his skin press against hers began to build.

"Something like that." He mused softly. His studying look pinned her in place as she licked her top lip nervously.

She could feel her heart racing with excitement. Wanting to tear her gaze away from his, she couldn't find the strength to look away. She thought she could almost will him to kiss her when his gaze rested on her lips.

He held up his spoon offering her the light and airy cream. Watching his face, she smiled coyly. Leaning in, she closed her lips around the spoon. Looking up through eyelashes to watch him, she smiled when she saw his brows lift a fraction in surprise. Seductively, she pulled away as the spoon slipped between her lips in erotic suggestion.

The playful surprise on Vegeta's face was transformed almost instantly. His features that had softened were now ridged. She flushed, heated by both her boldness and rising desire, but couldn't look away. Her desire held her captive; breathless and aching to fill a void she wasn't aware she had until now.

Vegeta stood still. His face clouded with conflict - a silent battle between carnal desire and the whisper of a past refusing to concede. Body humming with a thirst that demanding satisfaction, she broke their stalemate and caressed his face. His eyes closed. Leaning into her touch as his hand wrapping delicately around her wrist anchored them together. With a sad smile, he gently pulled her hand away and stepped back. Cold air washed around her, filling the void left by their feverish standoff. Blinking as if waking from a trance, she watched in bewilderment as Vegeta placed his dessert plate in the sink.

He paused in the doorway. Half-looking over his shoulder, his hand rested against the frame as if to steady himself. "I put out a pillow and blanket for you on the couch." His voice rumbled low and empty. "If the roads are clear, I'll take you home in the morning." He stood rooted in his spot, tentative to step towards her yet reluctant to walk away.

With a barely audible _good night_ , he left her sitting alone in the kitchen. Unsure of the whirlwind of want and desire that expectantly turned to sub-zero rejection, she wiped a tear sneaking from the corner of her eye as she turned to stare at her dessert, fantasies of how she would have preferred their evening to end dancing to the rhythm of her imagination.


	7. Mischief

A scraping noise coaxed Bulma awake. Mildly disorientated, panic urged her awake until she remembered she was in Vegeta's living room under a pile of blankets. Tossing and turning most of the night, the unfamiliar house made sleep elusive. At some point she had finally dosed off into a short-lived nap. Squinting at the numbers illuminating from the cable box, she rubbed her eyes against the harsh glare of three o'clock in the morning staring her in the face.

With an exhausted, half-frustrated sigh, Bulma tried to ignore the rummaging noises coming from the kitchen. She yanked a blanket over her head to muffle the sound of plastic containers scraping against shelves. A plastic bag whispered in annoyance from being moved aside. A drawer closed the contents shifting in metallic song - the sound echoing through the room despite an attempt to dampen it. When the sound of metal delicately rubbing against porcelain raked against her ears, Bulma gave up on sleep altogether.

Slowly sitting up to avoid attention, she peeked over the couch to see Vegeta leaning against the counter over some leftover dessert and spoon in hand.

He stared off in deep contemplation, spoon absentmindedly dipping into the creamy concoction and shoved unceremoniously into his mouth. Occasionally he would pause as if lost in some puzzling conundrum only to rid his mind of the weight of it as he shook his head. He would glance down as his spoon dove for another scoop.

The scene was puzzling. He seemed so…normal. The backbone of steel surrounded by an impenetrable air of tangible reserve was nowhere to be seen. In its place was a man whose thoughts were so bothersome that even the comfort of sleep couldn't quell them.

The dim light in the kitchen illuminated Vegeta's silhouette, light playing against brawn and flesh. He truly was a thing of beauty. The dedication and meticulous care of his empire was carved into perfection before her. The soft light deepened shadows hugging the peaks and valleys of his sculpted torso and arm. Silk navy lounging pants hung loosely off narrow hips hiding the strength and power of etched perfection she could only imagine underneath. There was no doubt that he treated his body with the same obsessive attention as each one of his business ventures, starting with his fitness gyms and expanding to endeavors far removed from the brick and mortar surrounding weights and treadmills.

Lost in her voyeurism, she froze when he glanced in the direction of the couch. With a squeak of surprise, she ducked out of sight and pulled the blanket around her. Squeezing her eyes shut and cursing at herself for getting caught spying, she held her breath and listened. The seconds seemed to drag. No sound came from the kitchen as she laid motionless and waited to hear soft footsteps retreat from the kitchen.

"If you can't sleep," punctuated with a sigh, Vegeta's deep baritone floated through the room. "You're more than welcome to join me."

Bulma's string of silent curses stilled at the invitation. He didn't sound angry. Rightfully agitated, but not angry.

She stood, taking a moment to stretch achy muscles unhappy with her couch situation.

The corner of his mouth lifted in amusement as she joined him. Maybe he was human after all.

"Sit." He gently commanded, gesturing at the chair with his spoon. She hesitated for an awkward moment then slid into the chair.

He turned to the fridge to take out a second dessert for her and a bottle of water, sliding both across the island with a spoon.

Silently, Bulma picked up the spoon and started eating the dessert. She wasn't sure if she wanted to open up a conversation just yet. Cautious about how things were left after dinner, his odd behavior was as unsettling as it was addicting. Minutes, horrendously silent minutes, ticked by before she cleared her throat.

"So, ah," Bulma started. "I guess you can't sleep either?"

"Unfortunately no." He said. "Work has been more stressful then usual. I have a new prospective business I may be investing in that is creating some worrisome questions."

"How so?" She asked with genuine curiosity.

Vegeta paused, brows inching together a fraction before answering. "It's possibly a conflict of interest of sorts to get involved with a potential merger of rescores. I'm still weighing my options to see if it's better to stay uninvolved or not."

Bulma watched the fluffy chocolate curl against her spoon as she dragged it across the dessert. "At least your stress will go away once you make a decision." Her lips pressed together in a thin line as the weight of the past few months hovered overhead. "I appreciate your going out of your way to give me a place to stay while the snowstorm passes, by the way. And…you know…making sure I didn't freeze to death."

Vegeta's shoulders seemed to relax – did he seem tense before she sat down? – and a genuine smile slid across his face. "It was no trouble at all. Getting a damsel in distress to stop being so stubborn before hypothermia set in was a bit taxing, but nothing I couldn't handle."

"So I guess waking me up at 3 o'clock in the morning is your payback?" Bulma waved her mousse-covered spoon at him.

He replied with deep laugh. She couldn't help but smile herself, the warmth of their exchange refreshing.

"Something like that." He chuckled.

"Can I ask you something?" Bulma couldn't hide her apprehension. Nagging questions about his knowledge into her father's company had been on her mind for days after their dinner. "So the Capsule Corp contracts…You made mention of the government contract at Tivondra. Who did you…I mean…how could you…" Her voice trailed off as she gazed over the sink and out the window. She immediately realized she didn't want to know the answer.

"Have known about super-secret government doings?" He finished the thought for her. "The Department of Defense is not as tightly hushed as they tend to boast. A colleague of mine was questioning about the stature of the contract and airing frustrations in the snags that were stalling development. Although names weren't disclosed, there's only one company around here that could be outsourced to for such confidential defense development."

"Capsule Corporation, of course." Bulma breathed the words out in irritation. "So is that what put us on the radar for you? A company failing to complete contracts? Was that the chum in the water for a shark like you?"

Vegeta chuckled, ignoring her seething. "Partially. I also wanted to get to know the engineer that would screw things up so badly that government members were starting to get more antsy then usual."

"Well, you met her." Bulma snapped as she opened up her arms in sarcastic welcome. "Here she is, for your entertaining pleasure."

Anger at him for bringing up her failure, frustrated at herself for her string of life failures and irritation over letting him get under her skin _again_ made her want to scream. Slamming her spoon down, she pushed the dessert away and stormed her way back to the couch. She barely made it past him when he had grabbed her arm and stopped her mid-step.

"You need to stop running away from your problems." The warning in his words were lost on her. She was too upset at him – at the world – to think clearly.

"Let go of me!" Bulma yelled in his face.

He held her steadfast. There was no threat that he was going to hurt her but there was no indication that he was going to back down and let her go.

She wasn't sure if she was mad at him or at herself. Nothing he said was incorrect, she _was_ the engineer that screwed things up far beyond repair, but it was the fact that _he said it_. Her failures, her fears, her unspoken truths…spoken as if they were having a casual conversation about the weather.

She couldn't handle facing herself. That's when she finally lost it. "You don't get to tell me what I do or don't need. I don't know who the fuck _you_ think you are but I'm not having it! ANY OF IT! I'm not some failure that you can just poke fun at whenever you think it's _amusing_ to you. I'm a _fucking_ _person_ for Kami's sake! Do you not have eyes in your thick skull to see that I should be treated with dignity and respect? I'm not some fucking sideshow that is here for your entertaining pleasure to mess with and see if you can make me loose my shit. I'm a person with feelings and thoughts and hopes and dreams and I just can't do this –" Bulma's voice cracked and tears started rolling down her face, uncontrollable sobs bubbling over.

Half-falling against Vegeta, she buried her face in the crook of his neck and continued crying. "I can't do this anymore. I can't be this person anymore. I just want my life back without all of the prying and scrutiny and judgmental asshats. I want people to see me for who I am. Not my mistakes. I just want to be normal again…"

Bulma drowned in her self-pity for a countless time before her tears dried and her sniffling shook her. When Bulma finally stopped she stiffened. There she stood, pressed against Vegeta with his arms loosely wrapped around her waist. His chest was soaked with her tears. Mortified, she untucked herself from the comfort of being held and wiped her nose with her wrist. "Oh my god. I'm so sorry. I just—I don't know what's wrong with me." She half chuckled as she pressed a napkin against her face and took a deep breath.

When Bulma peeled the napkin away, she was face to face with the man that didn't ask for the mess that was Bulma Briefs. Expecting him to have turned away to allow her a moment of privacy as she gathered her shattered emotions, she was stunned that Vegeta stood and watched her gain her composure without comment. His eyes were gentle, face soft. He waited.

A weak smile pulling at the corners of her mouth, Bulma looked at the floor. She felt raw and exposed, her crying fit stripping away the current layers of venom she used as protection from the world. It was then that Vegeta finally moved. Reaching out, he tucked his hand under her chin and tilted her head up.

"I see you." Vegeta whispered, gently rubbing his thumb over her bottom lip. Bulma instinctively leaned forward.

Vegeta looked down at her, tilting her head back a bit further as he watched Bulma's lips part ever so slightly. Her eyes widened in surprise as he lowered his head, lips inches apart. When he spoke, she had to strain to hear his words. "I see the way the corners of your eyes pinch when you laugh. How your nose crinkles when you're trying figure out something, or someone, that's particularly frustrating. The tilt of your head when you're amused. How you take a deep breath and your cheeks flush when excited."

Their lips were mere centimeters away from each other. His hand tucked under her chin sent a thrill down her spine. His warm breath caressed her skin as his words lulled her into a state of longing. He described her nuances as if they were a treasure to behold. Each comment traveled deep within her and began to chip away at a hard, ugly thing she didn't realize had taken residence within her. She felt a touch lighter. Bulma ached to spread her wings to soar.

Not able to stand still against his sensual attack, she finally reacted. She wrapped her hands around his wrist anchoring herself against the turmoil inside. Lifting up on tiptoe, she closed her eyes mashed her lips against his. It was awkward and reckless and rough.

And she didn't care.

She missed Vegeta's wide-eyed response to her impulsiveness. Although she felt his hand cup her chin, fingers purposely tangling in her hair, she didn't see his eyes close in temporary surrender as his head dipped lower to meet hers. He allowed her hunger to greedily take what she was searching for even though she didn't know what it even was. She almost pulled him into her whirlwind of emotions before the shifting of the sad world she had grown accustomed to shifted and changed underfoot.

Unbalanced and surging with a mixture of and need, Bulma felt him. Fine velvet against her lips calmed her frantic need. The rushing of blood surging through her veins pulsing in tempo with her heart died away as Vegeta lazily kissed her back. Body tensed with urgency easily melted into his as she lost herself to him.

It was nothing that she was expecting and everything she didn't know she wanted all at once.

Pulling away from him, breathless and aching for him to be everywhere against her, she looked at him in the dim light. They stood spellbound, staring at one another as their imaginations danced through the darkness of the what-could-be's.

"That was interesting," Vegeta chuckled, breaking the aura surrounding them.

Bulma giggled. "Yes it was." She agreed, partially relieved but surprisingly disappointed.

"As much as I'd like to see where this road goes," Vegeta smiled as he unwound his fingers from Bulma's hair. "Both of us do need a bit of sleep. The sun will be up before we know it and I have an important meeting I must attend in the afternoon. That is, if the roads are agreeable enough to drive on. I'll take you home on my way."

Bulma, now grinning like a prepubescent school girl, nodded. Maybe it would be better for her to get her libido in check before she compulsively chucked herself into the mysterious abyss that was Mr. Vegeta Breigh.

He rested his hands on her shoulders and kissed the top of her head.

The roller coaster she was on seemed to keep getting steeper and steeper.


	8. Train Wrecked

_I have had severe writer's block these past few months. My dad being hospitalized twice in the past 8 months on top of acquiring another business while working my 9-5 job as well as my photography business with the expectation of being a loving wife to my husband and a caring friend to those around me has wiped my creativity completely clean. I haven't given up on this story, or Driven by Need, but lately writing has been a severe struggle for me overall. I will continue chipping away at writing my stories as long as there is someone, somewhere, who still wants to read them. If you feel obliged to leave a review, that would truly help my psyche. I would be honored to be gifted some positive energy from those still taking the time out of their busy day to get lost in my writing._

 _Special thanks to Springandbysummerfall...again. Our chats over wine on the lake, your listening to me grump about my writing and allowing me to inject insight into yours has meant to world to me. If it wasn't for you caring about my stories as much as I do - and lately what feels like more then myself - I would've abandoned this writing thing long ago. Thank you for pushing me forward when I need it and dragging me along when I'm being thick-headed and stubborn. This chapter is for you!_

* * *

Dragging tired legs through the threshold, Bulma dumped her jacket just inside the door. Barely having any motivation to take her boots off, she stepped on the heel of each as she halfheartedly yanked her feet out of them. It was another long, grueling week of work and chores. If she wasn't in the lab trying to finish the government project that was well past it's due date then she was at home either under the hood of her car fixing her alternator…then serpentine belt…then the entire HVAC assembly that felt jealous of all the engine's attention.

Rubbing blurry and unfocused eyes too exhausted from hours of staring at screens and modular units being meticulously soldered together, she padded to the fridge. Empty shelves stared dumbly back at the pale face squinting through the bright light. A heavy sigh was all she could muster in response to the lonely shelves. Resting her head against the open door, Bulma closed her eyes. Irritation at both her roommate and herself for not doing any grocery shopping this past week seethed in rhythm with the rest of the week's failures.

Snatching the creamer from the fridge, Bulma settled on coffee for her after-work snack. Well, caffeine was more what she was after. Coffee was the warm, steamy, comforting vehicle she would use to get the energy elixir she craved to prepare for the evening's festivities.

The Briefs family Christmas party would commence in just a few short hours. Always on the Friday before Christmas, her mother and father hosted a party at their home. Well, her mother would be the one to throw the party. Her father, not objecting to the merriment of the holiday, reveled in the comfort of close friends gathered together to celebrate another holiday come and gone. Food, drink and conversation were never in short supply. It was always a cozy gathering with nothing too elaborately planned, outside of Christmas decorations vying for every inch of shelf and window space available, for the evening. Presents were rarely brought to the party. It was the unwritten policy that being surrounded by close friends and family was the true spirit of the holiday and would remain unspoiled by materialistic gifts.

Within minutes, Bulma had the coffee maker hissing to life as she waited for it to brew a pot of miracle liquid energy. Leaning on the counter, fists pressed into her cheeks to keep her head from drooping onto the counter, she stared at the dark bubbling liquid starting to pour from the machine and pool at the bottom of the carafe in all its steamy glory.

She watched the brewing pot in anxious exhaustion as she mulled over her week.

Her research and development team was officially in hot water with the government contract that had become the current bane of her existence. They had missed their deadline to get the defense technology out of beta testing and ready for practical live application. Her team had just ended the week trying desperately to push the project through completion to be delivered to the buyer. Every day the project was pushed back was another day they operated over budget and risked hefty fees in penalties. They were on the brink of completion but had to apply for two funding extensions that had already expired. The lack of product had spurred the Board to request a meeting with the department head on Monday. Bulma, being the current head of the department, knew that such a request was not a good sign. Before leaving work, she had pondered if the Board of Directors had the spine to _actually_ fire the boss' daughter.

Pair the career disaster teetering on the horizon with her trying desperately to fix her car so she could actually get _to_ work without hitching a ride from public transportation and the result was her running on fumes. She'd come home to replace her alternator only to accidentally shred the serpentine belt. Her lack of sleep after a fifteen hour workday was catching up to her with stupid rookie mistakes. That tacked on another round chores the next day only to find out that the HVAC system in the car was completely shot after her drove to work as frozen as a popsicle, complete with chattering teeth that didn't quiet themselves until lunchtime.

"Why don't you just get rid of that hunk of junk?" ChiChi had asked mid-week after a round of cursing punctuated with tool-throwing drew her friend to the garage to see what the commotion was about. "You make more than enough to buy a new car."

Bulma knew she was right. There was something about the stupid car that she loved, even with all of it's infuriating quirks. Maybe in the spring she would buy another car and retire her first set of wheels to a tinkering hobby.

Brew finally done, Bulma poured herself a cup with one hand as the other supported her lulling head. Mixing in the milk and some sugar, she stirred absentmindedly barely noticing the creamy milk swirl and dance with the dark coffee. The thought of last weekend with Vegeta tugged annoyingly at her. Successfully locking it away the entire week with the assistance of stress and lack of sleep, it finally found a way to claw itself out of the pit she had banished it to with quite the vengeance.

She was so incredibly confused by him. He was an infuriating puzzle that she despised. She hated trying to make sense out of him but his interactions with her nagged at her. It was like a scab that she knew would start bleeding incessantly the moment she picked at it but it was there and it was irritating and she just couldn't leave the damned thing alone.

How does a person go from heartlessly humiliating someone to transform into a concerned Samaritan that saves the reluctant damsel. Then – THEN – makes a complete turn around and rejects them with a lame excuse that they have to work in the morning. On a Saturday. After one of the worst snowstorms in recent memory. _Who does that?!_

She didn't even understand why she felt compelled to _want_ to do anything with him. He was just some power hungry rich asshole who wanted nothing more than to make sure she was safe. And warm. And taken care of.

 _No_ , Bulma thought as she shook her head to rid herself of the last thoughts scrolling through her mind. _Not him with his stupid tall hair. Those soul-sucking eyes on his stupid face. His stupid…square-jawed…masculine face atop those Adonis muscles that I need to feel under my…_

"What the _hell_." Bulma grumbled to herself as she picked up her coffee, sipping it cautiously, disgusted at herself.

What was wrong with her? Did she have some form of Stockholm syndrome? He _did_ pluck her from the road against her will…even if she probably would have frozen to death if he didn't accidentally find her when he did. But that shouldn't matter because she _didn't_ want to get in the car with him and she _didn't_ want to go to his house. ChiChi could have risked her life to brave the storm to pick her up at a gas station and taken her to safety…right?

Even Bulma rolled her eyes at that.

Tipping her head back towards the ceiling, Bulma closed her eyes to try to get the image of Vegeta in his kitchen and lost in troubled thought out of her head. For the first time conversation flowed easily between them. The calculating comments melted into playful banter. They relaxed as each lowered their guard over a treaty offering of decadent chocolate mousse.

Then he had to ruin their silent parlay by bringing up her job.

Then she had to destroy it with fast anger dripping with insecurity. He expertly saw through her veil of defensive indignation.

And then…

Her stomach flipped when she thought about the way he looked at her – like everything that she scrutinized as a flaw in herself was barely a speck of inconsequential dirt that could be easily brushed away. Her kissing him…his lazy response with returning it as if he had nothing better to do then take his time against her lips…

Bulma's eyes shot open with a start. "Nope," she said firmly. Taking another sip of coffee, her imagination whispered the ways he could quell the ache he had stirred in her. "Nope, nope, nope," she repeated and put her cup down. She wasn't going to be a party to that fantasy, as enticing as it was.

Resolving to distract herself from her work-car-Vegeta woes, Bulma headed upstairs to get ready for the party.

She could relive her evening with Vegeta later.

Or tomorrow.

Or never.

* * *

The Briefs home was abuzz with holiday cheer. People laughed as they enjoyed appetizers scattered about the living room on festive charger plates. Every seat cushion was occupied with warm conversation and happy smiles. Most hugged and reminisced over the past year as they caught up with each other's happenings. Friends who became close enough to be considered family shared inappropriate jokes that flew like rapid-fire drawing boisterous laughter from some and looks of offended distaste from others.

An elegant Douglas fir dripping with ornaments of crimson and white was the centerpiece of the living room. White lights intertwined through its branches glowed warmly for the crowd. A neat band of silver garland tucked among the soft blue green needles spiraled upwards around the tree to end at a nickel-brushed star shining above. The fireplace glowing behind it adding to the comfortable heat of the room. Evergreen swag adorned the mantle as an extravagant collection of holiday themed nutcrackers crowded haphazardly atop it.

It was a cozy gathering packed into a usually roomy space.

Bulma stirred the untouched eggnog with a disgusted face before slipping into the kitchen. Reaching for the whisky and bitters, she expertly mixed an Old Fashioned for herself – her father's favorite holiday drink that she had grown to love herself – from her father's private liquor cabinet. She took her cocktail and entered the living room unnoticed to join ChiChi and Goku on the couch.

"Hey stranger." ChiChi was all smiles and cheer as she stood to hug Bulma. "I feel like I haven't seen you in ages!"

Bulma returned her hug. "I know," she pulled away to bend down and give Goku a quick hug before sitting down. "Work has been absolutely insane these past few days."

"I was wondering what happened to you lately." ChiChi nudged Goku playfully in the ribs with a wink. "If it wasn't for her tantrum in the garage, I don't think I would've seen her all week."

"You're still driving that old rust bucket?" Goku laughed. "I thought you would have gotten rid of it after it left you stranded on the side of the road."

Bulma playfully stuck her tongue out at him. "How can I just abandon my first car? It's been so good to me for too long. Just because she's well past her prime doesn't mean she should be thrown away."

"You women are so overly attached to things." Goku shook his head in wonder. "It's a car. I'm sure it'll get over it."

"Speaking of being stranded in the snow…" ChiChi turned to her and leaned over. "Whatever happened with Vegeta?" She asked with hushed excitement.

Despite her stomach jumping nervously at the sound of his name, Bulma waved her hand dismissively. "Nothing happened. We had dinner, we talked for a bit then we went to bed. Well, he went to bed. I slept on the couch." Taking a sip from her glass, Bulma tried to suppress the awkward grin spreading across her face.

Wide-eyed, ChiChi leaned in closer. "Liar!" She hissed with playful annoyance while jabbing Bulma pointedly in the thigh. "You are a rotten liar, Ms. Bulma Briefs, and you should know that I can _always_ tell when you're lying."

Bulma's cheeks started to heat and she quickly looked away from her friend to study the room full of people that suddenly became more enthralling then her current conversation. "Nothing _happened_ , per se…" Her voice trailed off as she stole a glance at ChiChi hanging onto her every word with anticipation. "We just…kissed…that's all. Nothing to get overly excited about."

With a gasp followed by a squeal of excitement, ChiChi put her drink down and grabbed Bulma by the shoulders. "How was it? Was he a good kisser? Do you have a thing for him? Does he have a thing for you? Are you going to see him again? Have you seen him again already? _Tell me everything!_ "

"Jeeze, take a breath." Bulma tried to unsuccessfully pull herself out of ChiChi's grip and looked helplessly at Goku. He obviously just started paying attention to their conversation by his confused look.

"Who did you kiss?" He asked innocently.

"Seriously?" Bulma shook her head at Goku. "You're not allowed to take her to see romantic comedies anymore." She groused as she finally peeled ChiChi off her.

"Sorry, I have a lot on my mind." Flashing his big, warm smile, Goku scratched the back of his head nervously. "Well…um…I think I'm going to talk with Dr. B and see how he's doing."

Once Goku excused himself, ChiChi scooted almost on top of Bulma. A worried look crossed her face as she watched him shake hands with Bulma's father.

"I'm worried about him." ChiChi whispered. "He's been acting odd all week."

"Why?" Bulma asked, relieved for the change in topic. "What's been going on?"

"Well, we've been moving all of my stuff back into his place and…I don't know…he doesn't seem too thrilled about it. He keeps acting so particular about where he wants me to put my things and what drawers I'm not allowed to touch. He seems so agitated whenever I question him about it and we've had a few fights. It's not like we weren't living together before I moved in with you. I'm not even sure this is a good idea." Tears started to brim her eyes as the words stuck in her throat. "Do you think he might be second guessing my moving back in? Do you think he wants to break up with me? "

"Wait." Bulma held up her hand in paused confusion, barely focusing on anything past ChiChi's first sentence. "What do you mean moving your stuff out?"

"Didn't you get the note I left you in your pile of mail?" ChiChi asked.

Bulma shook her head _no_. She barely had time to shower. Mail was on the lowest rung of her priority list.

"Why do you think you haven't seen me at the house all week? I know you've been busy but gosh…I thought you'd at least notice that my stuff is gone."

Bulma sat back trying to digest this new information. "You wrote it in a note?" Bulma didn't try to hide her disbelief. "You couldn't have found any time to tell me to my face?"

"You were so busy and you were barely home!" ChiChi protested. "What was I supposed to do? Wait outside your bedroom like an abandoned puppy until you finally decided to come back to get some sleep?"

Bulma knew she was right. The past week's failures seemed to become even heavier on her already weighted shoulders. Bulma had stretched herself too thin at work and after coming home she hid in the garage. Trying to bury herself in her work had usually been cathartic but not when it was the source of her stress. It seemed everyone's lives were moving forward unhinged as she remained in utter solidarity.

Her job was at risk of being pulled out from under her. Her old faithful car that she adored from the moment she bought it with her own earnings was on its last frustrating leg. To add insult to injury, her best friend – her rock in the cataclysm that was Yamcha and what felt like everything left in his wake – was leaving her now, too.

"Come on Bee," ChiChi reached towards her, cooing sympathetically. "You know moving in was temporary to help while things settled down and you worked things out. It's been a couple of months now and I need to get back focusing on my relationship with Goku before it's too late. We've been talking about it for a few weeks and we both think it's time. I'm _always_ here for you but I need to take care of myself, too."

 _I need to take care of myself, too_.

The sentence resonated deep in her chest. It was the last phrase Yamcha yelled at her as he was picking up the clothes she had chucked out of her bedroom window and onto the front lawn.

The something ugly inside of her that fed on the misfortunes she had faced, nurtured by her insecurities and doubt, started to roil. Hot anger started to rise rapidly. So as not to cause a scene at her parents' party, Bulma froze an icy smile on her face. "It's okay," she said a little too high pitched. Clearing her throat she continued, "I understand. You need to put your relationship with Goku first and I can't blame you for that. If you'll excuse me," Bulma swallowed the rest of her drink and stood, "I need to get a refill."

Ignoring ChiChi's protesting, Bulma escaped into the kitchen. Breathing rapidly and trying to ignore the walls closing in as the loud rumbling in her ears became almost deafening – was this what a panic attack felt like? – she opened her father's liquor cabinet and pulled out the first bottle she wrapped her hand around. Her chest constricted as she gasped for air. Twisting off the cap, she threw it aside and took a swig straight from the bottle. Her throat burned as she gulped, the nutty flavor of citrus-y Christmas filling her mouth. Slamming the bottle down, she leaned forward as she desperately clutched the counter holding her up.

She knew she was overreacting. The simmering ball of self-loathing in her stomach was beginning to release its grip. Feeding it liquor seemed to be the only thing that made it go away lately.

She was already starting to think a little clearer. She wasn't even that upset _at_ ChiChi – she didn't do anything wrong. She had every right to move back in with Goku and continue her life where she abruptly left off so she could take care of Bulma. ChiChi didn't even know that her words was a ghost of Yamcha's.

It was just the culmination of events finally crumbling down around her.

She was being left behind.

Again.

The world was trudging forward silently and indifferently while Bulma was helplessly stuck watching it pass by.

With another swig of Gin, Bulma capped the bottle with a sad resolve. She would get through the evening then barricade herself in her room until she had to face the Board of Directors in Monday.

 _Only a few more hours_ she told herself as she shelved the liquor.

When she entered the living room, all conversation had stopped. A hushed excitement whispered through the gathering as everyone's attention was directed at the two figures in front of the Christmas tree.

Goku was on one knee holding the hand of a beaming, awestruck, teary-eyed ChiChi.

"…and I love you with all of my heart ChiChi," Goku continued his proclamation as Bulma stepped a little further into the room. "Will you do me the honor of being my wife?"

Throwing her arms around Goku's neck, ChiChi looked like she would float to the ceiling with elation. "Yes! Of course I will!"

They kissed each other as the room erupted in cheers. Everyone hooped and hollered with joy as Goku scooped ChiChi in his arms and spun her around. As soon as she was planted back on the ground, ChiChi made her way over to Bulma while Goku was clapped on the back and accepted handshakes in congratulations.

"Bulma!" ChiChi yelled over the hum of the room as she thanked those who stopped her to offer their best wishes. "Can you believe it?"

"No, no I can't." she replied honestly as ChiChi finally got close enough to hug. She forced a smile trying not to ruin her best friend's moment as the simmering of her self-loathing started to reignite. "I'm so happy for you Cheech. I'm glad Goku finally popped the question and I'm glad I was able to see it."

She meant every word she said but she knew her words sounded as empty as she felt. The sincerity of her words fell flat before they even left her lips.

ChiChi pulled away and studied Bulma with narrowed eyes. "Are you alright?"

"Everything's fine." Bulma took a step back waving a hand dismissively. "I'm just not feeling too well right now with the stress of everything. Plus I had some of my mom's eggnog and you know how _that_ is. I shoulda known better then to have some but you know what a tradition it is around here." She lied with a shrug of her shoulders.

ChiChi's head tilted to the side still unconvinced. "Seriously Bulma, what's going on?"

It felt like the walls were starting to close in on her. Bulma tried to concentrate on breathing as the rumbling noise began to fill her head again. "Nothing at all." Bulma held her hands up and started to back away. "I'm just feeling sick from the eggnog. Enjoy the party and congratulations, again. We can grab dinner and start brainstorming wedding ideas after the holidays." Bulma gave her a weak smile.

"Oh!" ChiChi clasped her hands at the thought of planning her future nuptials. "Planning the wedding is going to be so much fun! Do you promise?"

"Yup, Girl Scout's honor." Bulma said as she held up three fingers with a wink. "Now go enjoy the party and let my parents know I wasn't feeling well. I'll see you later."

With a smile, ChiChi nodded and went to join her new fiancé's side. Relieved her distraction of wedding planning worked, Bulma grabbed her purse and jacket as she slipped out the back door.

* * *

Bulma was still undecided if she had resolved to going to a bar or if it was fated that she ended up there. Either way, there was a bottom to a glass that was drowning in liquor and she knew she had to save it.

As soon as the bartender topped off the shot glass in front of her, Bulma had emptied it and slammed it down for another. As she waited for her refill – she lost count somewhere after the fifth one – she sipped on her whisky as the ice clinked softly against the glass.

Bulma sat at the bar eyeing the crowd around her. The place was surprisingly full for a Friday evening. It was mostly an after work crowd long past winding down and well into friendly drinks and conversation. A few tables were decorated by ugly Christmas sweaters while others were dressed for a night on the town after a quick stop at the local watering hole for cheap drinks.

Feeling disgustingly sorry for herself, Bulma wasn't sure if she was more mad at herself or her recently unfortunate fate of loneliness. With every shot she downed, the distinct line of world versus herself began to blur. Her nose was already numb and her upper lip was quickly following suit. She didn't bother to eat anything after work and her dinner of an Old Fashioned with a side of straight Gin had already made her start to feel fuzzy before getting her drink on at the bar.

Now she was determined to drink until she couldn't feel anymore. Her numb nose was a good indicator that she was heading in the right direction.

A young man slid into the seat beside her and signaled to the bartender. He gave Bulma a wink as he ordered a drink.

Placing a wobbly elbow on the table, Bulma leaned her head into her hand and flashed him her most sultry smile. Maybe a distraction to prove to the world that she could still be desirable was just what the doctor ordered.

Her visitor inched closer to her and rested a hand on the back of her chair. She smiled when he glanced at her cleavage before meeting her eye.

"What's a beautiful thing like you doing in a place like this?" His words slid from his mouth as easily as any well-oiled pickup line.

She could instantly see through his words and see where he hoped the conversation would go.

 _Screw it_ , she thought as she feigned a shy smile in return. _I deserve to feel sexy, don't I?_

"Waiting for a guy like you to rescue me." Bulma smiled, leaning over and placing her hand on his thigh. She giggled at how stupid that sounded coming out of her mouth. Distractedly, she slid her hand towards his groin only to stop a few inches from his crotch.

Her visitor seemed to appreciate it as he licked his lips and glanced downwards again. He picked up his glass and gestured with it towards hers. "I'm glad I got here just in time." He said as Bulma followed suit.

"Me too." Bulma clinked her glass against his and they both took a drink. "So tell me," Bulma inched in closer to made sure he had an unobstructed view down her shirt. He licked his lips again and took another drink. In a husky voice she slurred, "What do you think Santa does with a girl who has been very, _very_ naughty?"

His eyes widened as he coughed, choking on his drink. Grabbing for a napkin to wipe the drink he just spit all over himself and the bar, he cleared his throat as his face reddened. Bulma waited patiently, head resting on her hand, as he regained his composure.

Taking another sip, this time more successfully, he brushed her hair aside and ran his finger under the collar of her shirt. "Do you know what makes Santa so jolly?" When she shook her head _no_ he whispered in her ear, " _because he knows where all the bad girls live._ "

She felt a shiver run down her spine as his breath tickled her ear. She smiled at the face that was starting to blur.

It took less time then she thought for her horrible week – horrible year – to finally slide away quietly. The tendrils of her anger and hate had loosened her grip as the room around her faded away. All that was left was this warm body beside her wanting to be with _her_. Even if it was empty - a temporary distraction so they could use each other as a means to an end - it was something she could lose herself in for a little while.

A man who had taken notice of _her_.

Head lulling towards her drink, she giggled to herself as she brought it to her face. Taking the time to concentrate on getting the drink to her mouth she felt herself melting away. Her suitor whispered something about his place.

He made mention of what he'd like to do to a naughty girl on Santa's list and she laughed appropriately in response even though she had no idea what he had said.

He was standing now, gently pulling her from her chair as he reached for her jacket and purse.

Stumbling a bit before finding her feet, she squinted in confusion at the hand that wasn't hers holding on to her escort's shoulder.

The man's face scrunched in anger at the newcomer standing between her and him. They were exchanging heated words that were teetering on an escalation to a fight. Concentrating hard, she tried to make sense of what they were saying.

"Look buddy," a familiar voice said firmly, hand fisting in anger. "I already told you that she's not going home with you. I'm taking her home."

"Fine." Her new flirtatious friend spat in disgust. "I don't need that whore anyway. She's so easy, who knows who the hell's been between her legs."

His words sliced through the haze of her drunkenness. They would have been less painful if he slapped her across the face instead.

"What did you just say to me?!" She shrieked as she stumbled forward towards his retreating figure. Steady hands held her back as she attempted to loom towards her new-friend-turned-foe's direction. "What the _FUCK_ did you just say to me?!"

Turning to push herself away from her oppressor, she was staring straight into Yamcha's face. "What the hell are _you_ doing here?" She hissed angrily.

"I stopped in to meet up with some friends." Yamcha said matter-of-fact as held her at arm's length but not letting her go. "Now I'm going to take you home, instead."

She unsuccessfully tried to yank one of her arms away from him. "Let me goooooo." She whined. "I don't need you're help-" she poked him in the chest "-at aaaall." Another attempt at ripping herself away was partially successful as she skidded sideways knocking her bar stool over.

Releasing her as soon as the chair clattered in protest against the floor, Yamcha shook his head and sighed. The conversations around them lulled as nearby patrons nosily looked to see what the commotion was. Someone clapped in congratulations while another rudely yelled out _Opa!_ as a few others snickered at her.

"Apparently." A red-faced Yamcha muttered as he righted the fallen casualty from Bulma's tantrum.

Still indignant that she didn't need or want anyone's help, she was reluctantly lead out of the bar.

* * *

"Will you please just –"

The front door swung open violently and Bulma stumbled onto her knees inside.

"Bulma I just need you to –"

Feeling Yamcha trying to help her up, she brushed him off angrily and staggered to her feet. Trying to take off her jacket, the floor decided to lurch under foot. She fell sideways into the open closet, dragging the coats off their hangers and piling on top of her.

"I swear to Kami..." Yamcha grumped in exasperation as he hauled her out of the closet.

"I'm fine _Yamee_." Bulma sarcastically cooed.

Yamcha's face scrunched in hurtful reminiscence of her old pet name for him. "Your definition and my definition of fine are completely different." He mumbled, watching her unsteadily kick off her shoes and zigzag into the kitchen.

She was a woman on a mission, squinty eyed and determined, as she threw open the freezer. Plunging her arm into the icy fog greeting her, she smiled to herself as her hand withdrew a bottle of Crown whiskey. The glass was a welcoming cold caress cradled by her hot skin.

As she was rummaging in the cabinet for a glass, Yamcha _tsked_ in disapproval.

"I didn't ask you to bring me home." Bulma said simply as she filled half of her glass with the frosty amber nectar.

He stood in silent judgement as half of the liquid disappeared down her throat.

Stopping to catch her breath, Bulma turned to him with the sexiest look she could muster. "Why _did_ you bring me home, _Yamee_?" Her flirtation had such a sharp edge of sarcasm to it that Yamcha flinched.

"Bulma, you're drunk." Yamcha stated flatly.

"Aaaaaaand?" Bulma asked as she closed the gap between them. She pulled at the top button of his shirt, fumbling to unbutton it. "You've seen me drunk before. I remember you _used_ to like it."

She pouted as Yamcha stilled her hand. Bending over, his nose almost brushing against hers, he held the hand gripping at his collar. The other gently pried the glass she clutched out of her grip. "That was a long time ago, Bee." He said gently. "I think it's time for bed."

The words burned at the numbness that wrapped around her. Finally, _finally_ , she had been in a place where the internal voice mocking her these past few months was finally drowning. It was the only effective way she knew how to shut it up. But Yamcha dragging her out of the bar and now his reminder of their failed romance gave the monstrous thing a life raft. It gulped at this new gift of fresh air as it spewed out what a failure she had become.

Despite the rejection, she was in no mood for her evening to abruptly end. She had to shut _it_ up. Making Yamcha uncomfortable in his own skin the way he made her feel in hers? _That_ sounded like a fun idea.

"Is that a proposition?" Bulma batted her eyes innocently as she turned her face up to his. "Are you implying that you want to take me to bed?"

A look of shocked disbelief crossed Yamcha's face as he took a protective step away from her. He held his hands up cautiously. "Hey now," he stammered. "You know that's not what I meant."

Taking advantage of the opportunity, Bulma snatched her glass from the counter. "Oh, I'm pretty sure I know what you meant." Tipping back another sip, she swayed her hips back and forth as she walked into the living room. Calling over her shoulder, "Coming Yamee?" she sauntered over to the radio.

Missing Yamcha's cursing under his breath as the beats of the newest music hits filled the room, Bulma's hips began to sway. Feeling the music pulse through her as she stroked at the embers of her buzz, she met Yamcha at the couch.

Somewhere between a protest and her answering laughter, she pushed Yamcha on the couch through her renewed haze. Concentrating on the music, she stood between his legs with hips gyrating seductively. Pulling her shirt off, only a slight hiccup when her shirt became stuck causing her to almost fall on top of Yamcha, she bent over her frozen guest. With one hand on the couch to steady herself, Bulma tugged at the buttons on his shirt with the other until they popped open.

"Bulma," Yamcha protested weakly, "You seriously need to stop."

"Mmmmm?" she answered distractedly. She could tell he still wanted her. Even though he threw their relationship aside for some air-headed star-struck bimbo, she could tell he still yearned to touch her.

Almost predictably, his hands began to raise. He gently rested his hands against her shoulders. His fingers held her firmly as…

…as he stopped her advances…

…as he pushed her off of him…

…as he cleared his throat as uncomfortable silence filled the growing crevice between them…

"Yamcha," Bulma whined with stinging tears rimming her vision. "Yamcha…I...I think…" She hung her head in shame as the cold rejection settled somewhere between her swimming haze and numb indifference.

She could feel it in the pit of her stomach. It twisted her insides and burned at her throat. It was something familiar that she knew no good could come from.

"…I think I'm going to be sick…"

Her observation was little warning for the helpless man under her. There was no time to throw herself towards the bathroom as her horrible decisions of coping came racing back up in unwelcome reminder. There was no controlling the smelly concoction of alcohol and bile that was emptied onto the horrified person who was trapped in digested disbelief at his unfortunate situation.

"Bulma!" He screeched between her taking a breath and retching a second time all over his front. " _Goddammit_ Bulma!"

"I'm so sorry," she sobbed, too drunk to stand up straight and too horrified at what she had just done to collapse onto the couch. "Yamcha, I'm so sorry."

Needing to get closer to the ground as the room spun around her, Bulma sank to her knees. Covering her face in horrified embarrassment, her entire body shook as she cried over what she had just done.

"Fuck!" Yamcha yelled as he held his arms away from the wet mass of stink that covered his shirt and pants. A string of obscenities followed him as he stomped towards the laundry room. Mortified, Bulma stayed rooted to her spot until Yamcha lumbered angrily back wearing only his boxers.

"Yamcha…" Bulma mumbled weakly as she looked up at the man towering over her.

"It's time for you to go to sleep." He grabbed her wrist and firmly pulled her to her feet. "Can you walk?"

She nodded weakly as she allowed herself to be led to her bedroom. Yamcha carefully undressed her, despite his irritation, as she whimpered in childlike helplessness. The foul taste in her mouth mixed with the churning of the room around her was making her sick again. Closing her eyes to try and stop the spinning, her vertigo intensified as her stomach lurched in confused protest.

Cold metal was shoved into her hands. Thankful for her bathroom garbage can, she emptied her stomach into it as her caregiver looked down his nose with arms crossed in disapproval.

"I'm sorry," she weakly apologized again, sobs shaking her.

Yamcha took the can away and helped her slip under the sheets. He drew the blankets to her chin.

"I'll be downstairs on the couch." He said flatly. "The garbage can is next to your bed if you need to throw up again." It felt like an eternity before he flicked her lights off and shut her door leaving her alone in the darkness.


End file.
